OF  THL 

U N I VER5ITY 
or  ILLINOIS 

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LIBRARY 
OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


Henbt  W adsworth  Longfellow 


Birthplace  of  Longfellow.  (1807.) 


HIS  LIFE  HIS  WORKS 


HIS  FRIENDSHIPS 


Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 


HIS  LIFE,  HIS  WORKS,  HIS  FRIENDSHIPS 


BY 

GEORGE  LOWELL  AUSTIN 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  EDITION 


BOSTON 

LEE  AND  SHEPARD  PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1882, 

BY  LEE  AND  SHEPARD^ 


All  rights  reserved. 


Aug  87  g ^ Sl*dabbifc 


V 


PEEFACE. 


T FIRST  became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Longfellow  in 
-L  the  autumn  of  1868,  a few  days  after  taking  up  my 
residence  in  Cambridge.  Many  circumstances,  irrespec- 
tive of  the  characteristic  good  will  and  geniality  of  the 
poet,  tended  to  ripen  this  acquaintance  into  a friendship, 
to  which  I now  revert  with  more  than  ordinary  pleasure 
and  gratification.  Thenceforth  we  met  frequently  and 
talked  over  matters  which,  I have  no  doubt,  interested 
me  much  more  than  they  did  my  friend.  In  1876  my 
“History  of  Massachusetts”  was  published.  Having 
examined  a copy  of  the  work,  Mr.  Longfellow  sent  for 
me  one  day  and  suggested  the  preparation  of  a work 
which  should  comprise  in  its  subject-matter  very  full 
biographical  data  relative  to  our  elder  American  poets. 
The  suggestion  was  duly  considered,  and  the  project 
seemed  to  me  to  be  at  that  time  perfectly  feasible.  Upon 
making  known  to  Mr.  Longfellow  my  decision,  it  was  at 
once  agreed  that  we  should  begin  with  his  own  literary 
life  and  works.  -At  intervals  he  gave  me  much  of  his 
valuable  time,  and  I very  carefully  gathered  together 
from  his  lips  my  memoranda.  The  removal  of  the  poet 
to  his  summer  home  at  Nahant  naturally  suspended  the 

iii 


I 008S62 


IV 


PREFACE. 


interviews  ; and,  wliile  I hoped  to  continue  my  pleasant 
labors  in  the  autiinm  of  1877,  other  duties  of  a personal 
nature  interfered  and  at  length  forced  me  to  confess,  in 
response  to  repeated  inquiries  of  Mr.  Longfellow,  my 
inability  at  the  time  to  complete  the  plan  which  he  had  so 
kindly  proposed. 

Soon  after  the  death  of  Mro  Longfellow,  Mr.  John 
Owen,  his  life-long  friend,  strongly  urged  me  to  again 
take  up  the  work,  and  at  the  same  time  offered  me  his 
generous  advice  and  assistance.  He  freely  placed  at  my 
disposal  all  the  facts  m his  possession,  and  jotted  down 
from  memory  many  more.  We  were  daily  together  ; and 
the  work  w'as  rapidly,  but  carefully  and  conscientiously, 
carried  forward.  About  the  middle  of  April,  1882,  on  a 
Sunday  and  just  after  we  had  completed  our  memoranda, 
we  strolled  off  together.  The  bright  sun  was  overhead, 
but  the  air  was  chilly  and  the  earth  was  damp.  That 
evening  Mr.  Owen  was  taken  ill,  and  continued  so  for 
nearly  a fortnight.  His  malady  was  not  thought  to  be 
serious  at  first  by  his  attending  physician,  but  the  end 
proved  otherwise ; and  he  passed  quietly  away  on  the 
22nd,  in  the  seventy-sixth  year  of  his  age.  I can  pay  no 
better  tribute  to  my  friend’s  memory  than  this  : he  was 
ever  conscientious  in  his  opinions,  untiring  in  his  search 
after  truth,  and  faithful  to  all  whom  he  recognized  as  his 
friends.  Though  his  name  does  not  appear  as  often  as  it 
ought  in  the  following  pages,  still  I am  only  too  glad  to 
acknowledge  my  great  indebtedness  to  him  from  the  first 
page  to  the  last. 


PREFACE. 


V 


Without  Mr.  Owen’s  assistance  I should  never  have 
completed  this  volume.  At  his  earnest  entreaty,  I at 
once  made  known  to  the  Rev.  Samuel  Longfellow,  the 
younger  brother  of  the  poet,  and  himself  a true  poet  as 
well,  the  purpose  which  I had  in  mind.  I did  this  be- 
cause I was  unwilling  to  undertake  such  a work  without 
the  knowledge  of  the  family,  and  still  I did  not  feel  like 
taking  counsel  with  the  latter  at  such  a premature  mo- 
ment. The  Rev.  Mr.  Longfellow  received  me  most  cor- 
dially and  encouraged  me  to  go  on  with  the  enterprise. 

In  the  preparation  of  this  volume  I have  had  specially 
one  object ; namely,  to  present  a clear  but  popular  pic- 
ture of  the  poet’s  literary  life.  The  details  of  his  personal 
and  private  life,  or  at  least  so  much  of  it  as  belongs  by 
right  strictly  to  his  family,  I have  purposely  avoided.  It 
will  be  noticed  also,  that  I have  as  a rule  omitted  all 
correspondence  which  passed  between  Mr.  Longfellow 
and  his  friends  and  admirers.  Many  of  my  own  recollec- 
tions of  the  poet  are  scattered  throughout  the  work  ; but  I 
have  thought  it  proper  to  omit  such  as  are  purely  private 
and  possess  no  particular  public  interest.  F or  the  same 
reason,  I have  endeavored  not  to  thrust  myself  into  the 
narrative  any  oftener  than  it  seemed  necessary  to  estab- 
lish a fact  or  to  venture  an  opinion. 

To  the  surviving  classmates  of  the  poet,  and  to  others 
among  his  most  intimate  friends,  I stand  largely  indebted. 
My  correspondence  has  been  large,  and  the  responses 
have  been  full  and  generous  ; and  I only  regret  that  I 
have  not  the  space  to  mention  the  names  of  those  to 


VI 


PREFACE. 


whom  ill  general  terms  I must  again  acknowledge  my 
gratitude  for  assistance. 

The  frontispiece  portrait  of  Mr.  Longfellow  is  a repro- 
duction, by  the  Lithotype  Company  of  New  York,  from  the 
latest  and  most  admired  negative  taken  by  Mr.  Warren. 
For  brilliancy,  softness  and  accuracy  of  detail,  it  is  truly 
admirable. 

The  work  is  now  committed  to  the  public  in  the  hope 
that  it  will  not  be  found  wanting  in  interest  and  value. 
Mr.  Longfellow’s  life  throughout  was  a plea  for  cheerful- 
ness and  good  will  to  his  fellow-men.  I trust  that  the 
story  of  his  life,  as  portrayed  in  these  pages,  will  not  fail 
to  teach  the  same  inspiring  and  ennobling  lesson. 

G.  L.-A. 

Cambridge,  Mass.,  January,  188o. 


CONTENTS 


PAOB 

CHAPTER  I. 

The  Ancestry  of  the  Poet 7 

CHAPTER  II. 

Birth  and  Early  Childhood 32 

CHAPTER  HI. 

College  Days 53 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Earlier  Poems  of  Longfellow 80 

CHAPTER  V. 

Longfellow’s  First  Visit  to  Europe 105 

CHAPTER  VI. 


Longfellow  a Professor  in  Bowdoin  College  . . , 163 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Invited  to  Cambridge:  Revisits  Europe 187 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Longfellow’s  First  Years  in  Cambridge 198 


vii 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  IX. 

“Hyperion”  and  “Voices  of  the  Night”  . « . . 224 

CHAPTER  X. 

“Ballads  and  Other  Poems” 259 

• 

CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Period  of  Longfellow’s  Second  Marriage  . . 279 

CHAPTER  XII. 

“Evangeline,  a Tale  of  Acadie  ” 297 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Period  of  “Hiawatha” 314 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Years  of  Adversity  and  Toil 333 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Translation  of  Dante 351 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Last  Ten  Years 363 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Last  Illness  and  Death 378 

APPENDIX:  Longfellow’s  Bibliography 405 

INDEX 411 


ILLUSTEATIONS, 


PAGE 

Portrait  of  Longfellow.  A Lithotype  Reproduction  of 

ONE  OF  THE  LAST  NEGATIVES  TAKEN  BY  WaRREN  OF  BOS- 
TON. The  Picture  was  a Favorite  of  the  Poet,  Frontispiece 
The  Granite  Horse-Block  and  the  Large  Elm  at  New- 


' BURY,  Mass.  From  a Photograph  kindly  furnished  by 

Mr.  William  A.  Ford  of  Boston 9 

The  Old  Longfellow  Homestead  at  Newbury,  Mass.  From 
A Photograph  taken  in  March,  1882,  by  Mr.  Ford,  and 

LOANED  BY  HIM 10 

The  Wadsworth  House,  at  Portland,  Me 23 

Longfellow’s  Birthplace,  at  Portland,  Me.,  as  it  appears 

IN  1882  33 

The  Old  Wharf,  at  Portland,  Me 41 

Longfellow’s  Birthplace,  as  it  appeared  in  1807.  Taken 

FROM  AN  Old  Engraving 44 

Professor  Cleaveland  on  the  Lecture-Path 59 

Bowdoin  College  in  1830  01 

Profile  Portrait  of  Longfellow  in  the  Year  of  his 

Graduation  from  Bowdoin  College 78 

Portrait  of  Longfellow  at  the  Age  of  Twenty-five, 


Facing  165 

The  Craigie  House  at  Cambridge,  Mass.:  the  Home  of 
THE  Poet  from  the  Time  of  his  Arrival  in  Cambridge, 

Facing  200 

Harvard  College  at  the  Time  of  the  Second  Centennial 


Celebration  in  1836  217 

Mary  Ashburton 235 


ix 


X 


ILLUSTRATIONS, 


PAGE 

BirRG  Unspunnen 2'Sl 

Chapel  of  Saint  Gilgkn 246 

, Round  Tower  at  Newport,  R.I 260 

The  Village  Smithy  at  Cambridge.  Reduced  Facsimile 
OF  A Pen-and-Ink  Drawing  made  by  Longfellow  in 

1840  Facimi  268 

Longfellow’s  Chamber  at  the  Craigie  House,  from  1837 

TO  1844  280 

The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs Facing  296 

Portrait  of  Longfellow,  Age  Forty-five  ....  Facing  314 

Portrait  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne 343 

Portrait  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 350 

Longfellow’s  Study,  from  1844  Facing  354 

Portrait  of  Louis  Agassiz 368 

Portrait  of  Charles  Sumner 370 

Portrait  of  James  Russell  Lowell 373 

The  Longfellow  Jug 374 

Elmwood:  Home  of  James  Russell  Lowell  . . . Facing  374 

The  Children’s  Chair Facing  376 

The  Drawing-Room  at  the  Longfellow  Home  . . Facing  382 


FACSIMILES  OF  MSS. 

' page 

Facsimile  from  “A  Midnight  Mass  for  the  Dying  Year,” 

Opposite  256 

Facsimile  from  Lowell’s  “Fable  for  Critics”.  . Opposite  274 
Facsimile  of  the  MS.  of  “ The  Arrow  and  the  Song,” 

NOW  IN  Possession  of  the  Author Facing  294 

Facsimile  of  a Translation  of  Schiller’s  “Columbus,” 

SENT  TO  Mr.  Sumner  by  the  Poet,  at  the  Request  of 
his  Friend.  Original  MS.  now  owned  by  the  Author, 

* Facing  368 


HENEY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 

OME  time  towards  the  last  quarter  of  the  seven- 


teenth century,  there  came  to  live  in  the  town 
of  Newbury,  Mass.,^  a young  man  of  sturdy  habits, 
who  bore  the  name  of  William  Longfellow.  He 
was  born  in  Yorkshire,  England,  in  or  about  the 
year  1651.^  Having  located  in  the  New  World,  and 

1 “ ‘ Ould  Newberry,’  as  it  was  anciently  called,  was  settled,  in- 
corporated, and  paid  its  first  tax,  in  the  spring  of  1635.  It  derives 
its  name  from  Newbury,  a town  in  Berkshire,  Eng.,  situated  in  the 
south  part  of  the  county,  on  the  river  Kennet,  fifty-six  miles  west 
from  London.  It  was  so  named  in  honor  of  the  Rev.  Thomas 
Parker,  who  had  for  some  time  preached  in  Newbury,  Eng.,  before 
his  arrival  in  America.  Till  its  incorporation  in  1635,  it  was  called 
by  its  Indian  name,  Quascacuuquen,  — a name  which  the  natives 
gave,  not  to  the  whole  territory  (as  the  word  signifies  a ‘ waterfall  ’), 
but  to  ‘ the  falls  ’ on  what  is  now  called  the  river  Parker,  on  whose 
banks  the  first  settlers  fixed  their  habitations.”  — A Sketch  of  the 
History  of  Newbury,  Neiohuryport,  and  IPes^  Newbury,  fx*om  1635  to 
1845;  by  Joshua  Coffin,  A.B.,  S.H.S.,  Boston,  1845.  One  writer,  on 
what  authority  I know  not,  states  that  William  Longfellow  arrived 
in  America  in  1663. 

2 “ Bro.  Longfellow’s  Father,  AViIl'»  Longfellow  lives  at  Ilosforth 
near  Leeds  in  Yorkshire.  Tell  him  Bro.  has  a son  W^”  a fine  likelj’^ 
child,  a very  good  piece  of  Land,  & greatly  wants  a little  stock  to 
manage  it,  and  y^  Father  hath  paid  for  him  upwards  of  an  hundred 


7 


8 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


established  liimself  as  a merchant,  lie  married,  on 
Nov.  10,  1678,1  Anne,^  tlie  daughter  of  Henry 
Sewall,  and  laid  the  foundations  of  a liome  in  that 
part  of  the  town  then  known  as  the  “ Falls.”  ^ Ilis 
career,  however,  was  not  destined  to  be  crowned  with 
the  garlands  of  peace ; for  we  know,  that  in  1690, 
as  ensign  of  the  Newbury  Company,  he  took  an 
active  part  in  the  ill-fated  expedition  which  Sir  Wil- 

pounds  to  get  him  out  of  Debt.”  — Letter  of  Samuel  Sewall  to 
Stephen  Sewall,  dated  “Boston  in  N.  E , Xr.  24,  1G80,”  in  N.  E. 
Hist,  and  Gen.  Eer/i.^ter,  vol.  xxiv.  p.  123.  Stephen  Sewall  was  at 
this  time  residing  at  Bishop-Stoke,  Hampshire,  Eng. 

1 Coffin,  p.  308,  says  that  the  marriage  took  place  10th  Nov.,  1G7G, 
which  is  an  error. 

2 Anne  Sewall,  the  daughter  of  Henry  Sewall,  was  born  3d  Sept., 
1GG2.  She  was  a sister  of  the  chief  justice.  By  this  union  were 
born  William  (the  child  mentioned  above),  25th  Nov,,  1G79;  Stephen, 
10th  Jan.,  1G81;  Anne,  3d  Oct.,  1G83;  Stephen,  22d  Sept.,  1G85;  Eliza- 
beth, 3d  July,  1G88;  and  Nathan,  5th  Feb.,  1G90. 

3 Concerning  the  old  Longfellow  house  in  Byfield.Mr.  Horace  F. 
Longfellow  of  that  place,  under  date  of  Feb.  18,  1882,  thus  writes:  — 

“ Dear  Sib,  — At  the  request  of  my  father,  Joseph  Longfellow,  I 
answer  yours  of  the  14th,  in  regard  to  the  old  Longfellow  house  at 
Byfield,  Mass.  It  was  probably  built  by  William  Longfellow  about 
1G7(5,  at  or  about  the  time  of  his  marriage  with  Anne  Sewall.  The 
location  of  the  house  is  unsurpassed.  It  is  situated  on  a sightly 
eminence  at  the  very  head  of  tide-water  on  the  river  Parker,  the 
si>arkle  of  whose  waters  as  they  go  tumbling  over  the  falls  adds  a 
pictures(|ueness  to  the  natural  beauty  of  the  scenery  that  lies  spread 
out  on  either  hand, — hill  and  vale,  forest  and  field,  the  outgoing 
or  incoming  tide.  Nature  was  lavish  here;  and  young  Longfellow, 
appreciating  it  all,  erected  the  old  house,  to  which  he  took  his  young 
bride.  It  still  stands,  although  two  centuries  and  more  have  passed 
since  its  outer  frame  was  put  together.  It  has  not  been  occupied  for 
twenty  odd  years,  and  of  course  is  in  a dilapidated  condition.  I 
was  born  under  the  old  roof-tree  myself;  and  so  were  my  father, 
grandfather,  great-grandfather,  and  great-great-grandfather  (son  of 
William)  before  me.  The  large  chimney  was  taken  down  years  ago, 
a part  of  the  house  itself  has  been  removed;  but 


“ ‘ The  scenes  of  my  childhood  are  brought  fresh  to  my  mind,’ 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


9 


liam  Phips  conducted  against  the  stronghold  of  Que- 
bec. The  fleet,  which  sailed  from  Boston  Harbor 
on  the  9th  of  August,  consisted  of  thirty-two  vessels, 


The  Granite  Horse-block  and  the  Large  Elm. 


having  on  board  an  army  of  twenty-two  hundred  sol- 
diers. The  voyage  was  a tedious  one,  and  Quebec 

and  I can  see  the  old  weather-beaten  house  with  its  rear  roof  descend- 
ing nearlj'^  to  the  ground;  the  long  kitchen  with  its  low  ceiling  and 
wide  fireplace;  the  big  brick  oven  in  which  was  baked  the  Thanks- 
giving jtiesand  puddings  (I  can  taste  them  now);  the  big  ‘ best  room;’ 
the  winding  stairs;  the  old  spinning-wheel  in  the  attic;  the  well- 
curb  and  its  long  sweep  at  the  end  of  the  house;  in  front,  the  granite 
horse-block,  and  the  large  elm  spreading  over  all.  The  old  elm  still 
lives,  but  is  feeling  tbe  effects  of  age.  The  old  elm  and  the  house 
will  end  their  existence  together,  and  soon. 

“ Very  truly, 

“ Horace:  F.  Lonoffllow. 


“ Byfield,  Mass.” 


10 


IIKNKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


was  not  readied  until  in  tHe  early  part  of  the 
month  of  October.^ 

The  story  of  the  expedition  has  often  been  told. 
The  attempt  to  capture  Quebec  proved  futile,  and 
the  audacious  commander  was  forced  to  abandon  the 
object.  While  the  fleet  was  returning,  and  had 
already  reached  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence,  it  was 
overtaken  by  a furious  storm.  The  vessels  were 
scattered : and  one  of  them,  having  on  board  tlie 
Newbury  Company,  was  driven  on  the  desolate  shore 
of  Anticosti ; and  the  gallant  ensign,  with  nine  of 
his  comrades,  was  drowned.  This  event  took  place 
in  the  night  of  the  31st  of  October.^ 

Of  William  Longfellow’s  six  children,  all  but  one 
survived  to  mourn  the  death  of  their  father.  One 
of  them,  a lad  of  about  five  years  of  age  at  the  time 
of  the  parental  loss,  bore  the  name  of  Stephen.^  Of 
his  early  life,  even  of  his  manhood,  the  records  are 
scant.  He  became  a blacksmith,  and  probably  lived 
always  in  Newbury,  where  “we  may  picture  him, 

1 According  to  Judge  Sewall,  William  Longfellow  went  in  1687 
to  England  to  obtain  his  patrimony  in  Yorkshire.  It  was  probably 
in  this  year  that  his  father  died. 

2 “ ’Twas  Tuesday,  the  18th  of  November,  that  I heard  of  the 
death  of  Capt.  Stephen  Greenleaf,  Lieut.  James  Smith,  and  Ensign 
Wm  Longfellow,  Serjt  Increase  Pilsbury,  who  with  Will  Mitchell, 
.Tabez  Musgro,  and  four  more  were  drown’d  at  Cape  Britoon  [an 
error]  on  Friday  night  the  last  of  October.”  — Judge  Sewall’s  Diary, 
anno  1690  William  Longfellow’s  widow  married  Henry  Short, 
May  11,  1692. 

3 William  Longfellow  had  two  sons  who  bore  the  name  of  Ste- 
phen. The  first  of  the  name,  born  in  1681,  died  in  early  childhood. 
The  .second,  who  afterwards  became  the  blacksmith,  was  born,  as 
stated  above,  on  the  22d  of  September,  1685.  He  was  named  for  his 
mother’s  grandfather,  Stephen  Hummer,  and  was  the  first  of  the  six 
generations  of  Stephen  Longfellows. 


Thr  Old  Longfellow  Homestead  at  Newbury,  Mass. 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


11 


like  the  poet’s  hero  of  the  village  smithy,  with  large 
and  sinewy  hands,  brawny  arms,  his  brow  wet  with 
honest  sweat,  as  he  swings  his  heavy  sledge  ‘with 
measured  beat  and  slow.’  ” 

Stephen  the  blacksmith  married,  March  25,  1714, 
Abigail  Tompson,  the  daughter  of  Rev.  Edward 
Tompson  of  Marshfield,  by  whom  he  had  ten  chil- 
dren.^ One  of  the  sons,  Stephen,  jun.,  was  born  on 
Feb.  7,  1723,  and  quite  early  in  life  discovered  signs 
of  precocious  talent.  He  was  more  fond  of  books 
than  of  the  forge  and  the  sledge-hammer,  and  gave 
such  promise  of  intellectual  strength  that  his  father 
was  induced  to  bestow  upon  him  the  benefits  of  an 
education.  At  the  proper  time  he  was  sent  to 
Harvard  College,  where  he  received  a diploma  of 
graduation  in  1742. 


1 Mr.  Elwell  of  Portland  writes  as  follows  concerning  the  Long- 
fellow grant  of  land  in  the  parish  of  Byfield,  Newbury,  Mass.:  “ It 
is  a remarkable  and  interesting  coincidence  that  the  families  of  two 
of  the  first  poets  of  our  time,  Whittier  and  Longfellow,  originated  in 
the  same  neighborhood;  the  original  Longfellow  home  in  Byfield 
being  but  about  five  miles  distant  from  the  old  Whittier  house  in 
East  Haverhill,  both  of  which  are  now  standing.  The  Byfield  Long- 
fellows are  descended  from  Samuel,  son  of  the  first  Stephen,  and 
brother  of  the  second  Stephen,  who  came  to  Portland  in  1745.  Samuel 
had  a son  Nathan;  Nathan  two  sons,  Joseph  and  Samuel;  Joseph  a 
son  Horace.  Joseph  and  Horace  still  live  on  land  included  in  the 
original  grant.  The  old  house  is  quite  a Mecca  for  literary  pilgrims. 
The  Byfield  Longfellows  are  prominent  in  local  politics,  and  have 
talent  as  speakers  and  writers.  Samuel,  brother  of  Joseph,  lives  in 
Groveland,  a neighboring  town.  He  has  a daughter  Alice,  who 
is  making  a reputation  as  a writer  and  public  reader.  Joseph,  of 
Byfield,  who  is  a noted  wit,  says,  that  when  he  was  a young  man  he 
was  ashamed  of  his  name,  especially  as  he  was  literally  a Long- 
fellow; but  when  Henry  Wadsworth  began  to  make  a reputation, 
and  people  would  ask  him  if  he  was  related  to  the  poet,  he  became 
proud  of  it.” 


12 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


After  completing  his  college  course,  Stephen 
Longfellow  taught  the  village  school  in  York.  It 
was  after  he  had  been  thus  engaged,  and  was  out  of 
employment,  that  he  received  the  following  letter:  — 

Falmouth,  Nov,  15,  1744. 

Sir,  — We  need  a schoolmaster.  Mr.  Plaisted  advises 
of  your  being  at  liberty.  If  you  will  undertake  the  ser- 
vice in  this  place,  you  may  depend  upon  our  being  gene- 
rous and  your  being  satisfied.  I wish  you’d  come  as  soon 
as  possible,  and  doubt  not  but  you’ll  find  things  much  to 
your  content. 

Your  humble  ser’t, 

Thos.  Smith. 

P.S.  — I write  in  the  name  and  with  the  power  of  the 
selectmen  of  the  town.  If  you  can’t  serve  us,  pray  ad- 
vise us  of  it  per  first  opportunity. 

The  author  of  the  foregoing  epistle  was  the  venera- 
ble guardian  of  souls  in  Falmouth,  or  Portland  as 
it  is  now  called.  That  Stephen  Longfellow  consid- 
ered well  the  proposal,  and  acted  favorably  upon  it, 
is  disclosed  by  the  following  simple  record,  which 
we  read  in  Parson  Smith’s  “Journal,”  under  date  of 
April  11,  1745:  “Mr.  Longfellow  came  here  to 
live.”^ 


1 Thomas  Smith,  the  venerable  minister  whose  Journal  con- 
tains so  much  that  is  valuable  bearing  on  the  early  history  of  Port- 
land, Me.,  was  horn  March  10,  1702,  the  eldest  of  a large  family  of 
children.  He  graduated  at  Harvard  in  1720,  entered  at  once  upon 
theological  studies,  and  in  1727  was  settled  in  Falmouth,  as  the 
first  regularly  ordained  minister  in  Maine  east  of  Wells.  In  1728 
he  was  married  to  Sarah  Tyng  (daughter  of  William  Tyng,  Esq.,  of 
Woburn,  Mass.),  who  died  Oct.  1,  1742.  In  1744  he  was  married  to 
Mrs.  Olive  Jordan,  widow  of  Capt.  Samuel  Jordan  of  Saco,  and 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


13 


One  week  later,  Mr.  Longfellow  opened  his  school 
“ in  a building  on  the  corner  of  Middle  Street  and 
School,  now  Pearl  Street ; ” and  among  his  pupils 
were  the  names  of  many  of  the  most  prominent  fami- 
lies of  that  day.  His  salary  was  two  hundred  pounds 
sterling,  not  including  the  tuition-fees,  which  for  each 
pupil  was  eighteen  shillings  and  eightpence  per  year. 

Matters  fared  well  with  the  schoolmaster,  and  his 
time  was  not  so  fully  occupied  with  the  duties  of  his 
profession  that  he  could  not  fall  in  love.  He  met 
and  became  acquainted  with  Tabitha  Bragdon,  a 
daughter  of  Samuel  Bragdon  of  York;  and  on  Oct. 
19,  1749,  he  was  married  to  her.  Shortly  afterwards 
he  forsook  his  boarding-place  at  the  parsonage,^  and 
went  to  live  in  a house  of  his  own  in  Fore  Street. ^ 
Thither,  also,  he  transferred  his  school,  and  continued 
to  teach  until  1760,  at  which  time  he  was  appointed 
clerk  of  the  judicial  court. 

The  following  notice  was  annually,  with  change  of 
date,  posted  on  the  schoolhouse  door  : — 

“ Notice  is  hereby  given  to  such  persons  as  are  disposed 
to  send  their  children  to  school  in  this  place  the  ensuing 
year,  that  the  year  commences  this  day,  and  the  price 
will  be  as  usual;  viz.,  eighteen  shillings  and  eightpence 

lived  with  her  about  twenty  years.  In  17G6  lie  was  married  to  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Wendell,  daughter  of  John  Hunt  of  Boston.  By  his  first 
wife,  Parson  Smith  had  eight  children.  lie  died  May  25,  1795,  in 
the  ninety-fourth  year  of  his  age. 

1 In  his  copy  of  Smith’s  Journal,  Mr.  William  Willis  says  in 
a MSS.  note,  “I  think  Mr.  Longfellow  boarded  with  IMr.  Smith 
when  he  came  here  until  his  marriage.” 

2 The  Fore-street  house  was  built  on  the  lot  now  occupied  by 
the  Eagle  Sugar  Refinery. 


14 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


per  year  for  each  scholar  that  comes  by  the  year,  and  eight 
shillings  per  quarter  for  such  as  come  by  the  quarter.” 

There  were  then  no  newspapers  printed  in  the 
town,  nor  for  thirty  years  afterwards. 

Stephen  Longfellow’s  father  lived  long  enough  to 
see  his  son  fully  entered  upon  a life  of  usefulness 
and  honorable  distinction;  and  when  he  died  (Nov. 
7,  1764),  he  left  him  a small  legacy.  “It  is  an  evi- 
dence of  the  son’s  affectionate  regard  for  his  father, 
that,  on  receiving  this  legacy,  he  formed  the  purpose 
of  converting  it  into  a permanent  memorial.  Tak- 
ing the  silver  coin,  he  sent  it  by  packet  to  Boston ; 
but,  unfortunately,  the  vessel  was  lost,  and  the  money 
with  it.  When  the  tidings  reached  Mr.  Longfellow, 
he  made  up  a like  amount  of  silver  coin,  which 
reached  Boston  in  safety,  and  was  manufactured  by 
John  Butler,  a well-known  silversmith,  into  a tank- 
ard, a can,  and  two  porringers.  Each  bore  the  initials 
“ S.  L.,”  and  the  added  words  of  grateful  remem- 
brance, “jKc  dono  patrisy  The  tankard  has  been 
preserved ; and  one  of  the  porringers,  after  a some- 
what eventful  history,  has  found  its  way  back  into 
the  family,  and  is  now  one  of  the  treasures  of  the 
poet’s  brother,  Alexander  W.  Longfellow.”  ^ 

When,  on  the  18th  of  October,  1775,  Falmouth 
was  bombarded  and  partially  destroyed  by  the  Brit- 
ish soldiery,  among  the  buildings  to  fall  before  the 
flaming  element  was  the  home  of  Stephen  Longfel- 

1 Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  and  His  Paternal  Ancestry, 
hy  Rev.  H,  S.  Barrage  of  Portland.  A most  admirable  memoir,  to 
which  I stand  much  indebted  throughout  this  chapter. 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


15 


low.^  The  house  was  never  rebuilt.  The  committee 
appointed  to  examine  and  liquidate  the  accounts  of 
those  who  suffered  in  the  burning  of  the  town,  hav- 
ing estimated  and  replaced  his  loss  to  the  extent  of 
X 1,119,  Mr.  Longfellow,  with  other  inhabitants  of 
the  town,  including  Parson  Deane  of  the  First  Parish, 
removed  to  Gorham,  Me.,  where  he  continued  ‘to 
reside  until  his  death,  which  occurred  May  1,  1790. 
In  a brief  sketch  of  his  life  Mr.  Willis  thus  writes : — 

“Mr.  Longfellow  filled  many  important  offices  in  the 
town  to  universal  acceptance.  He  was  about  fifteen  years 
grammar-school  master,  town  clerk  twenty- two  years, 
many  years  clerk  of  the  proprietors  of  the  common  land, 
and  from  the  establishment  of  the  county  in  1760  to  the 
commencement  of  the  Revolution  in  1775  he  was  register 
of  probate  and  clerk  of  the  judicial  courts.  His  hand- 
writing, in  beautiful  characters,  symbolical  of  the  purity 
and  excellence  of  his  own  moral  character,  is  impressed 
on  all  the  records  of  the  town  and  county  through  many 
successive  years. 

To  Stephen  Longfellow,  by  his  wife  Tabitha  were 
born  three  sons  and  one  daughter. ^ Of  these,  Wil- 
liam died  in  childhood ; Samuel  left  no  children  ; 

1 “ October  16,  a fleet  of  five  or  six  vessels  of  war  anchored  at 
the  Island  with  Mowat,  a cat  bomb  ship,  two  cutter  schooners  and 
a small  bomb  sloop.  On  the  ITtii,  they  came  up  before  the  town,  p.m.  ; 
sent  word  that  in  two  hours  they  should  fire  upon  the  town,  which 
was  respited.  On  the  IStii,  at  nine  a.m.  they  began  and  continued 
until  dark,  with  their  mortars  and  cannon,  when  with  marines  land- 
ing, they  burnt  all  the  lower  part  of  the  town  and  up  as  far  as  Mr. 
Bradbury’s,  excepting  Mrs.  Ross’  two  houses,  and  son  Thomas’  shop 
and  stores,  my  house  being  included.”  — Smith's  Journal,  anno  1775. 

2 Note  to  his  edition  of  Smith’s  Journal,  p.  118. 

3 Tabitha,  who  became  the  wife  of  Capt.  John  Stephenson  in  1771. 


16 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


and  Stephen,  the  eldest,  was  born  Aug.  3,  1750.  In 
the  early  years  of  his  manhood  he  became  acquainted 
with  Patience  Young  of  York,  and  married  her  on 
Dec.  13,  1773.  He  lived  in  Gorham,  and  died  there 
May  28,  1824. 

During  his  life,  Stephen  Longfellow  took  an  active 
part  in  the  affairs  of  his  town  and  county.  Besides 
having  been  extensively  employed  as  a surveyor,  and 
having  held  several  town  offices,  he  had  the  honor 
of  representing  Gorham  in  the  General  Court  of 
Massachusetts  for  eight  years.  For  several  years  he 
was  a senator  from  Cumberland  County;  and,  from 
1797  to  1811,  he  was  judge  of  the  Court  of  Common 
Pleas.  There  are  still  living  not  a few  who  remem- 
ber with  what  dignity  he  was  wont  to  be  driven 
into  Portland  in  an  old  square-top  chaise,  and,  dis- 
mounting, made  his  way  into  the  court-house  under 
the  escort  of  the  sheriff.  “ He  was  a fine-looking 
gentleman,  with  the  bearing  of  the  old  school ; was 
erect,  portly,  rather  taller  than  the  average,  had  a 
strongly-marked  face,  and  his  hair  was  tied  behind 
in  a club  with  black  ribbon.  To  the  close  of  his 
life  he  wore  the  old-style  dress, — knee-breeches,  a 
long  waistcoat,  and  white-top  boots.  He  was  a man 
of  sterling  qualities  of  mind  and  heart,  great  integ- 
rity, and  sound  common  sense.” 

Of  his  children,  Stephen  Longfellow,  the  sec- 
ond child,  was  born  in  Gorham,  March  23, 1776.  To 
him  belongs  the  honor  of  having  been  the  father 
of  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  the  poet. 

He  was  most  carefully  trained  in  his  youth,  and 
was  evidently  fitted  by  his  parents  for  a professional 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


17 


career.  He  early  gave  promise  of  the  same  intellec- 
tual strength  which  characterized  his  father  and 
grandfather,  and  was  sent  to  Harvard  College  in 
1794.  A college  friend,  two  years  his  senior,  said  of 
him  in  later  life,  “ He  was  evidently  a well-bred  gen- 
tleman when  he  left  the  paternal  mansion  for  the 
university.  He  seemed  to  breathe  the  atmosphere 
of  purity  as  his  native  element ; while  his  bright 
intelligence,  buoyant  spirits,  and  social  warmth,  dif- 
fused a sunshine  of  joy  that  made  his  presence  always 
gladsome.”  And  another  writer  says,  “ that  he  was 
a favorite  in  his  class  is  the  testimony  of  his  asso- 
ciates. But  he  went  to  college  for  other  purposes 
than  good-fellowship.  He  was  an  earnest,  exemplary 
student.  His  scholarship  entitled  him  to  high  rank ; 
and,  having  completed  the  course,  he  left  the  univer- 
sity with  a full  share  of  its  honors.” 

Mr.  Longfellow  was  graduated  from  college  in 
1798  in  the  class  with  Judge  Story  and  Dr.  Chan- 
ning ; and,  on  returning  home,  he  entered  the  law- 
office  of  Salmon  Chase,  who  was  an  uncle  of  the 
late  chief  justice  of  the  United  States.  Three  years 
later  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  at  once  began 
to  prosper  in  the  midst  of  an  extensive  practice.  In 
1804,  on  the  first  of  January,  he  married  Zilpah,^  the 
eldest  daughter  of  Gen.  Peleg  Wadsworth,  who  was 
the  son  of  Deacon  Peleg  Wadsworth  of  Duxbury, 
Mass.,  and  was  the  fifth  in  descent  from  Christo])her 
Wadsworth,  who  came  from  England  and  settled  in 

1 By  this  marriaj?e  were  horn  four  sons  and  four  daugliters, — 
Stephen,  Henry  W.  (the  poet),  Alexander  W.,  Samuel,  Elizabeth, 
Anne,  Mary,  and  Ellen. 


18 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


that  town  before  1632,  and  whose  known  descend- 
ants in  the  United  States  are  now  numbered  by 
thousands. 

The  Peleg  Wadsworth,  jun.,  of  military  fame,  was 
born  at  Duxbury,  May  6,  1748  ; graduated  at  Har- 
vard in  1769;  and  married,  in  1772,  Elizabeth 
Bartlett  of  the  same  town.  Their  children,  through 
their  mother  and  grandmother  Wadsworth,  who  was 
Susanna  Sampson,  inherited  the  blood  of  five  of  the 
“Mayflower”  pilgrims,  including  Elder  Brewster  and 
Capt.  John  Alden.i 

When  was  “ fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world,” 
from  the  quiet  meadows  of  Lexington  and  Concord, 
Peleg  Wadsworth  caught  something  of  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  hour,  and  was  among  the  first  to  march 
in  the  defence  of  freedom.  The  tidings  of  the  revo- 
lutionary struggle  already  begun  speedily  reached  his 
native  village;  and  Wadsworth  at  once  set  about 
raising  a company  of  minute-men,  of  which,  in  Sep- 
tember, 1775,  he  was  commissioned  captain  by  the 
Continental  Congress  then  in  session.  In  the  follow- 
ing year  he  engineered  in  laying  out  the  defences 
of  Roxbury ; was  an  aid  on  the  staff  of  Gen.  Ward 
when  Dorchester  Heights  were  occupied  in  March 
of  the  same  year;  and,  in  1778,  he  was  appointed 
adjutant-general  of  his  State. 

After  the  failure  of  the  Bagaduce  expedition  in 
the  ensuing  year,  the  British  pursued  a system  of 
outrageous  plundering  on  the  shores  of  Penobscot 
Bay  and  the  neighboring  coast,  in  which  they  were 

1 Memoir  of  Gen.  Peleg  Wadsworth,  by  Hon.  William  Gooid, 
from  which  I have  borrowed  freely  in  this  chapter. 


THE  ANCESTEY  OF  THE  POET. 


19 


piloted  and  assisted  by  the  numerous  Tories  who  had 
gathered  at  Bagaduce  and  in  the  vicinity.  In  order 
to  protect  the  people  from  this  plundering,  the  Con- 
gress in  1780  ordered  six  hundred  men  to  be  detached 
from  the  three  eastern  brigades  of  the  State,  for  eight 
months’  service.  The  command  of  the  whole  eastern 
department,  between  the  Piscataqua  and  St.  Croix, 
was  given  to  Gen.  Wadsworth,  with  power  to  raise 
more  troops  if  they  were  needed.  He  was  also  em- 
powered to  declare  and  execute  martial  law  over 
territory  ten  miles  in  width,  upon  the  coast  eastward 
of  Kennebec,  according  to  the  rules  of  the  American 
army.  His  headquarters  were  established  at  Thom- 
aston. 

At  the  expiration  of  the  term  of  service  of  the  six 
hundred  troops,  Gen.  Wadsworth  was  left  with  only 
six  soldiers  as  a guard  at  his  house.  His  family 
consisted  of  his  wife,  a son  of  five  years  of  age,  and 
a Miss  Fenno  of  Boston,  a particular  friend  of  his 
wife.  As  soon  as  he  was  informed  of  Gen.  Wads- 
worth’s insecure  position,  Gen.  McLane  at  Bagaduce 
sent  forward  a party  of  men  for  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing him  a prisoner.  They  came  in  a vessel,  and 
anchored  four  miles  off.  At  midnight,  on  the  18th 
of  February,  1781,  they  marched  on  foot  to  the 
Wadsworth  residence,  where  they  were  met  by  a 
most  determined  resistance.  During  the  encounter, 
Gen.  Wadsworth  was  shot  in  the  arm,  and,  finding 
himself  completely  overpowered,  surrendered,  and 
was  hurried  off  to  the  vessel.  He  was  taken  across 
the  bay  to  Castine,  and  retained  as  a prisoner  in  Fort 
George.  His  treatment  during  this  confinement  was 


20 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


in  every  respect  agreeable.  Four  months  later  Mrs. 
Wadsworth  and  Miss  Fenno,  with  a passport  from 
Gen.  McLane,  arrived  at  Bagaduce,  and  were  politely 
entertained  for  ten  days.  In  the  mean  time,”  we 
are  told,  “ orders  had  arrived  from  the  commanding 
general  at  New  York,  in  answer  to  a communication 
from  Gen.  McLane.  Their  purport  was  learned,  from 
a hint  conveyed  to  Miss  Fenno  by  an  ofQcer,  that  the 
general  was  not  to  be  exchanged,  but  would  be  sent 
to  some  English  prison.  When  Miss  Fenno  left,  she 
gave  the  general  all  the  information  she  dared  to. 
She  said,  ‘Gen.  Wadsworth,  take  care  of  yourself.’ 
This  the  general  interpreted  to  mean  that  he  was  to 
be  conveyed  to  England,  and  he  determined  to  make 
his  escape  from  the  fortress  if  possible.  Soon  after,  a 
vessel  arrived  from  Boston,  with  a flag  of  truce  from 
the  governor  and  council,  asking  for  an  exchange  for 
the  general,  and  bringing  a sum  of  money  for  his 
use  ; but  the  request  was  refused.”  ^ 

On  the  night  of  the  18th  of  June,  Gen.  Wads- 
worth and  a fellow-prisoner.  Major  Burton,  made 
their  escape  from  the  building  in  which  they  were 
confined,  by  passing  through  an  opening  made  in  the 
board  ceiling  with  a gimlet.  They  evaded  the  senti- 
nels, and  finally  got  off  in  safety,  arriving  on  the 
third  day  at  Thomaston.  Gen.  Wadsworth  was  not 
a little  amazed  to  learn  that  his  family  had  left  for 
Boston.  He  soon  followed  them,  pausing  for  a while 
at  Falmouth,  where  he  finally  fixed  his  residence. 

How  Gen.  Wadsworth  appeared  at  this  time  to  his 
friends  and  family  is  evidenced  by  the  following 

1 Mr.  Goold,  Memoir  cited. 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


21 


letter,  dated  “ January,  1848,”  and  written  by  his 
danghter  Zilpah.  It  reads,  — 

“ Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  my  father’s  picture  as 
it  was  when  we  came  to  this  town  (Falmouth)  after  the 
war  of  the  Revolution  in  1784.  Imagine  to  yourself  a 
man  of  middle  size,  well  proportioned,  with  a military  air, 
and  who  carried  himself  so  truly  that  many  thought  him 
tall.  His  dress  a bright  scarlet  coat,  buff  small  clothes 
and  vest,  full  ruffled  bosom,  ruffles  over  the  hands,  white 
stockings,  shoes  with  silver  buckles,  white  cravat  bow  in 
front ; hair  well  pow'dered,  and  tied  behind  in  a club,  so 
called.  ...  Of  his  character  others  may  speak,  but  I 
cannot  forbear  to  claim  for  him  an  uncommon  share  of 
benevolence  and  kind  feeling.” 

Gen.  Wadsworth  settled  in  Falmouth  in  1784;  and 
in  December  of  that  year  he  purchased,  for  one  hun- 
dred pounds  lawful  money,  the  lot  of  land  in  Fal- 
mouth on  which  he  erected  his  home.  In  the  deed 
the  purchase  is  described  as  “ lying  north-east  of  a 
lot  now  possessed  by  Capt.  Arthur  McLellan,  being 
four  rods  in  front,  and  running  towards  Back  Cove, 
and  containing  one  and  one-half  acres,  being  part 
of  three  acres  originally  granted  to  Daniel  Ingersoll, 
as  appears  on  the  records  of  the  town  of  Falmouth, 
Book  No.  1,  p.  46.”  1 

While  he  was  building  his  house,  tlie  general  and 
his  family  resided  in  a building  which  belonged  to 
Capt.  Jonathan  Paine.^  It  was  originally  coii- 

1 “ This  is  tlie  Congress-street  lot  on  which  lie  erected  his  house 
and  store.”  — Goold. 

2 This  house  stood  on  what  is  now  the  south  corner  of  Franklin 
and  Congress  Streets. 


22 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


stmcted  for  a‘  stable,  but  had  previously  been  ten- 
anted by  certain  families  resident  in  the  town.  The 
house  which  Gen.  Wadsworth  chose  to  erect  was 
unlike  others  belonging  to  that  period.  “ There  had 
then  been  no  attempt  in  the  town  to  construct  all  the 
walls  of  a building  of  brick  — indeed,  there  had  been 
no  suitable  brick  for  walls  made  here.  At  that  tim-e 
brick  buildings  were  expected  to  have  a projecting 
base  of  several  courses,  the  top  one  to  be  of  brick 
fashioned  for  the  purpose,  the  outer  end  of  which 
formed  a regular  moulding  when  laid  on  edge  and 
endwise ; and  the  walls  receded  several  inches  to  the 
perpendicular  face.  Several  houses  besides  Gen. 
Wadsworth’s  were  commenced  in  this  way.  In  the 
spring  of  1785  the  general  obtained  brick  for  his 
house  in  Philadelphia,  including  those  for  the  base, 
and  a belt  above  the  first  story.  John  Nichols  was 
the  master  mason.” 

The  house  was  not  finished  until  after  the  second 
spring;  and  that  it  was  “thoroughly  built,”  and  not 
inartistic  in  its  external  appearance,  all  who  look 
upon  it  to-day  will  bear  testimony.  No  other  brick 
house  was  erected  in  the  town  until  three  years 
later.  “ The  W adsworth  house  when  originally  fin- 
ished had  a high  pitched  roof  of  two  equal  sides, 
and  four  chimneys.  The  store  adjoined  the  house  at 
the  south-east,  with  an  entrance-door  from  the  house, 
and  Avas  of  two  stories.  Here  the  general  sold  all 
kinds  of  goods  needed  in  the  town  and  country 
trade.  His  name  appears  in  the  records  with  some 
forty  others,  as  licensed  ‘ retailers  ’ of  the  town  in 
1785.  What  time  he  gave  up  the  store  is  uncertain.” 


THE  ANCESTEY  OF  THE  POET. 


23 


In  1792  Gen.  Wadsworth  was  elected  to  the  Mas- 
sachusetts Senate,  and  in  the  same  way  he  was  also 
chosen  to  represent  the  Cumberland  district  in  Con- 
gress. He  held  the  last-named  position  until  1806, 
when  he  declined  a re-election.  Two  years  before 
his  election  to  Congress,  the  general  purchased  from 


Wadsworth  House. 

the  State  of  Massachusetts  7,500  acres  of  wild  land 
in  the  township  on  the  Saco  River  now  known  as 
Hiram.  He  paid  -$937.50  for  the  property,  or  twelve 
and  a half  cents  per  acre.  As  early  as  possible  he 
began  to  clear  a farm  on  a large  scale,  and  with 
what  success  appears  from  the  following  ])aragraph 
in  “The  Eastern  Herald”  of  Sept.  10,  1792,  pub- 
lished in  Portland : — 


24 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


“Gen.  AVadswortli  thinks  he  has  raised  more  than  one 
thousand  l)iishels  of  eorn  this  season,  on  burnt  land,  that 
is  now  out  of  danger  of  the  frost,  at  a place  called  Great 
Ossipee,  about  thirty-six  miles  from  this  town.  This  is 
but  the  third  year  of  his  improvements.” 

Three  years  after  this  successful  result  had  been 
thus  reported,  the  general  settled  his  son,  Charles 
Lee  Wadsworth,  on  the  farm,  and  in  1800  began 
preparations  with  the  view  of  removing  thither  him- 
self with  all  his  family.  In  the  same  year  he  com- 
menced building  a large  house  on  the  land,  which 
house  is  still  standing  one  mile  from  Hiram  Village. 
We  are  told  that  “the  clay  for  the  bricks  of  the  chim- 
neys was  brought  down  Saco  River  three  miles  in  a 
boat.  This  house  was  of  two  stories,  with  a railed 
outlook  on  the  ridge  between  the  two  chiinne}^s. 
There  was  a very  large  one-story  kitchen  adjoining, 
with  an  immense  chimney  and  fireplace.  Years  after 
its  building,  the  general’s  youngest  son,  Peleg,  said, 
that,  at  the  time  of  the  erection  of  the  house,  he  was 
seven  years  old,  and  was  left  by  his  father  to  watch 
the  fires  in  the  eleven  fireplaces,  which  were  kindled 
to  dry  the  new  masonry,  while  he  rode  to  the  post- 
road for  his  mail,  and  that  he  had  not  felt  such  a 
weight  of  responsibility  since. 

The  Wadsworth  famil}^  began  housekeeping  in 
their  new  house  on  New  Year’s  Day,  1807 ; and  the 
general  and  his  son  Charles  at  once  engaged  in  the 
arduous  duties  of  lumbering  and  farming.  He 
never  was  so  busy,  however,  that  he  could  not  lend 
his  services  in  the  public  interest.  In  1812  he  was 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


25 


chosen  selectman  of  the  town,  and  continued  to  fill 
the  oifice  until  1818.  For  twelve  successive  years 
he  was  also  the  town  treasurer.  “ He  was  a magis- 
trate, and  was  looked  upon  as  the  patriarch  of  the 
town.  He  was  a patron  of  education,  and  his  home 
was  the  central  point  of  the  region  for  hospitality 
and  culture.  He  was  long  a communicant  of  the 
Congregational  Church,  and  so  continued  until  his 
death  at  the  age  of  eighty-one.” 

Gen.  Wadsworth  died  in  1829,  having  been  bereft 
of  his  devoted  wife  four  years  before.  The  graves 
of  the  aged  couple  are  still  pointed  out  in  a private 
enclosure  on  the  home  farm,  but  the  original  modest 
headstones  have  been  replaced  by  a marble  monu- 
ment of  more  pretentious  appearance. 

Of  the  children  of  Gen.  Wadsworth,  of  whom 
there  were  eleven,  the  following  is  the  record : The 
eldest  was  born  at  Kingston,  Mass.,  in  1774,  and 
died  in  the  next  year  at  Dorchester.  Charles  Lee 
was  born  at  Plymouth  in  January,  1776,  and  died 
at  Hiram  on  Sept.  29,  1848.  Zilpah,  the  eldest 
daughter,  was  born  at  Duxbury,  Jan.  6,  1778,  and 
died  in  Portland,  March  12,  1851.  Elizabeth,  born 
in  Boston,  Sept.  21,  1779,  died  in  Portland,  Aug.  1, 
1802.  John,  born  at  Plymouth,  Sept.  1,  1781,  was 
graduated  at  Harvard  in  1800,  and  died  at  Hiram, 
Jan.  22,  1860.  Lucia,  born  at  Plymouth,  June  12, 
1783,  died  in  Portland,  Oct.  17,  1864.  Henry,  born 
at  Portland,  Me.,  on  June  21,  1785,  died  at  Tripoli, 
Sept.  4,  1804.  George,  born  in  Portland,  Jan.  6, 
1788,  died  in  Philadelphia,  April  8, 1816.  Alexander 
Scammell,  born  in  Portland,  May  7,  1790,  died  at 


26 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Washington,  April  5,  1851.  Samuel  Bartlett,  born 
in  Portland,  Sept.  1,  1791,  died  at  Eastport,  Oct.  2, 
1874.  Peleg,  born  in  Portland,  Oct.  10,  179o,  died 
at  Pliram,  Jan.  17,  1875. 

Two  of  the  sons  of  the  general  were  officers  in 
the  United  States  Navy.  At  the  age  of  nineteen, 
Henry  became  a lieutenant,  and  served  in  Commo- 
dore Preble’s  squadron  before  Tripoli  in  1804.  The 
story  of  his  lamented  death  is  told  in  the  inscription 
on  a marble  cenotaph  erected  by  his  father  to  his 
memory,  now  visible  in  the  Eastern  Cemetery  in 
Portland. 1 It  was  from  this  gallant  young  officer, 

1 This  cenotaph  is  near  the  graves  of  the  captains  of  the  Enter- 
prise and  Boxer,  and  bears  the  following  inscriptions:  — 


[S.  W.  FACE.] 

In  memory  of 
HENRY  WADSWORTH. 
— son  of — 

PELIG  WADSWORTH, 
Lieut.  U.  S.  Navy, 

— who  fell  — 

Before  the  walls  of  Trip- 
oli on  the  eve  of  4th  Sept., 

— 1804  — 

in  the  20th  year  of  his  age 
by  the  explosion  of  a 

— fire  ship  — 
which  he  with  others 

gallantly  conducted 
against  the  Enemy. 


[S.  E.  FACE.] 
Determined  at  once 
they  prefer  death  and 
the  destruction  of 
— the  Enemy  — 
to  captivity  and  tortur- 
ing slavery. 


[n.  w.  face.] 

“ An  honor  to  his 
country 

and  an  example  to 
all  excellent 
youth.” 


Resolve  of  Congress. 


Com.  Preble’s 
letter. 


Capt.  Richard  Somers, 


Lieut.  Henry  Wadsworth, 


[n.  e.  face.] 


Lieut.  Joseph  Israel, 


My  country  calls, 


I have  one  life. 


That  life  I give 


This  world  adieu : 


for  you. 


and  10  brave  seamen 
volunteers 
were  the  devoted 
band. 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


27 


his  uncle,  that  the  poet  Longfellow  received  his 
name.  The  other  son,  Alexander  Scammell,  of  he- 
roic Jistinction,  was  second  lieutenant  of  the  frigate 
“ Constitution  ” at  the  time  of  her  memorable  battle 
in  August,  1812,  in  which  she  captured  the  British 
frigate  “ Guerriere.”  So  well  did  he  acquit  himself 
that  his  fellow-townsmen  of  Portland  presented  him 
with  a sword  for  his  gallantry.  Lieut.  Wadsworth 
afterwards  rose  to  the  rank  of  commodore. 

The  eldest  daughter  of  Gen.  Wadsworth  is  re- 
ported to  have  “ performed  her  part  in  life  as  bravely, 
and  died  as  much  beloved  and  honored,  as  did  lier 
gallant  brothers  of  the  navy.”  At  the  time  when 
her  father  moved  into  the  brick  house  in  Portland, 
Zilpah  was  eight  years  of  age,  and  bore  nobly  the 
“inconveniences  and  discomforts  of  the  unfinished 
quarters  in  which  they  lived  while  the  house  was 
building.”  In  June,  1799,  the  first  uniformed  com- 
pany in  Maine  was  organized  at  Portland ; and  Zil- 
pah Wadsworth  had  the  honor  to  present  a military 
standard  to  the  company,  in  behalf  of  the  ladies  of 
the  town.  On  one  side  of  the  flag  was  the  motto, 
“ Defend  the  laws,”  and  the  arms  of  the  United 
States  ; on  the  reverse,  the  same  arms  united  with 
those  of  the  State  of  Massachusetts. 

In  1804  Gen.  Wadsworth  and  his  family  were 
residing,  as  has  already  been  stated,  in  the  brick 
house  which  he  had  erected  in  Portland  ; and  here 
it  was,  probably,  that  Stephen  Longfellow,  having 
already  met  and  loved  Zilpah,  was  united  to  her  in 
marriage  on  the  first  of  January  of  that  year.  For 
one  year  after  their  marriage  the  young  couple 


28 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


resided  at  tlie  Wadsworth  iiiaiisioii.  The  next  year 
tliey  removed  to  a small  two-story  wooden  house, 
still  standing  on  the  south  corner  of  Congress  and 
Temple  Streets,  immediately  oi)posite  the  First 
Ihirish  Church  ; and  here  it  was  that  they  began 
their  first  housekeeping.  At  the  same  period  of 
time,  a rich  merchant  of  Portland,  Samuel  Stephen- 
son, was  living  in  the  large  square  wooden  house, 
yet  standing  on  the  corner  of  Fore  and  Hancock 
Streets.  His  wife,  Abigail  Longfellow,  was  a sister 
of  Stephen ; and,  as  her  husband  had  been  suddenly 
called  to  the  West  Indies  on  a matter  of  business, 
she  invited  her  brother,  with  his  family,  to  spend 
the  winter  of  1806-7  with  her.  Thus  it  was,  that, 
temporarily,  the  young  lawyer  changed  his  abiding- 
place,  and  became  a resident  in  a house  that  hence- 
forth and  for  all  time  was  to  be  remembered  as  the 
birthplace  of  a poet. 

After  the  departure  of  the  family  of  Gen.  Wads- 
worth to  Hiram,  Stephen  Longfellow  removed  to  the 
brick  house,  and  thenceforth  made  it  his  permanent 
home.  The  old  store,  where  the  general  had  sold 
so  many  goods,  was  at  once  moved  out  of  the  way ; 
and  in  its  place  was  built  the  brick  vestibule  at  the 
east  corner,  over  which  was  placed  a modest  sign, 
bearing  the  words,  “ Stephen  Longfellow,  Counsellor- 
at-Law.”  The  eastern  front-room  was  occupied  for 
the  law-office ; and  within  this  office,  it  should  be 
noted,  “several  young  students  read  ‘Coke  and 
Blackstone,’  who  afterwards  became  prominent  law- 
yers of  Cumberland  County.” 

In  1814  Stephen  Longfellow  was  sent  to  tlie 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


29 


Legislature  of  Massachusetts,  and  during  his  term 
of  service  he  was  also  chosen  a member  of  the  cele- 
brated Hartford  Convention.  It  was  just  after  his 
return  home  that  occurred  the  followmg  incident. 
“ While  Mrs.  Longfellow  was  indisposed,  and  the 
family  physician  was  in  attendance,  the  servant 
overheated  the  kitchen  flue,  which  took  fire,  and 
communicated  it  to  the  attic,  which  the  family  knew 
nothing  of  until  it  broke  out  through  the  roof.  Mr. 
Longfellow  was  the  chief  fire-ward  of  the  depart- 
ment ; but  his  first  thought  was  of  his  sick  wife, 
whom  he  hastily  inquired  for  of  Dr.  Weed.  He 
told  Mr.  Longfellow  to  look  to  the  fire,  and  he  would 
take  care  of  his  wife.  When  it  became  evident  that 
the  house  must  be  flooded,  the  doctor,  who  was  a 
tall,  muscular  man,  wrapped  Mrs.  Longfellow  in  a 
blanket,  and  carried  her  in  his  arms  into  IMadame 
Preble’s,  the  next  door,  — now  the  hotel.  After  it 
had  nearly  destroyed  the  roof,  the  fire  was  extin- 
guished. To  give  accommodation  to  his  increasing 
family,  Mr.  Longfellow  shortly  afterwards  added  a 
third  stoiy  to  the  house  ; and  in  place  of  the  original 
high,  two-sided  one,  he  had  built  a low  four-sided  or 
‘ hipped  ’ roof,  with  the  chimneys  the  same.”  As 
thus  repaired,  “ the  venerable  structure  around  which 
so  much  of  historical  interest  clusters  has  remained 
to  the  present  time.” 

It  remains  for  us  now  simply  to  trace  the  events 
of  Stephen  Longfellow’s  noble  and  useful  life  to  its 
close.  Thenceforth  he  was  largely  the  servant  of 
his  fellow-townsmen.  In  1816  he  was  chosen  a 
presidential  elector,  and  in  1822  Avas  elected  a mem- 


80 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


her  of  the  Eighteenth  Congress.  At  the  close  of 
liis  term  of  office  he  retired  altogether  from  political 
affairs,  and  resolved  to  devote  the  remaining  years 
of  his  life  to  the  practice  of  his  profession.  He  was 
not  lost  sight  of,  however,  whenever  work  for  which 
he  was  eminently  fitted  was  to  be  performed.  When 
Lafayette  visited  Portland,  in  1825,  it  was  Mr.  Long- 
fellow who  gave  him  the  address  of  welcome.  The 
task  was  most  gracefully  executed,  and  drew  out 
from  the  valiant  Frenchman  the  following  equally 
graceful  allusion  to  Mr.  Longfellow.  ‘‘  While  I 
offer,”  said  Lafayette,  “to  the  people  of  Portland, 
^ and  to  you,  gentlemen,  my  respectful  thanks,  I am 
happy  to  recognize  in  the  kind  organ  of  their  kind- 
ness to  me  the  member  of  Congress  who  shared  in 
the  flattering  invitation  which  has  been  to  me  a 
source  of  inexpressible  honor  and  delight.” 

Mr.  Longfellow  served  as  a trustee  of  Bowdoin 
College  from  1817  to  1836,  and  received  the  degree 
of  Doctor  of  Laws  from  the  same  institution  in 
1828.  He  was  recording  secretary  of  the  Maine 
Historical  Society  from  1825  to  1830,  and  in  1834 
he  was  elected  president  of  the  society.  On  the  3d 
of  August,  1849,  at  the  age  of  seventy-four,  his  life 
came  to  a peaceful  close.  “ No  man,”  says  Mr. 
Willis  in  his  “ Law,  Courts,  and  Lawyers  of  Maine,” 
“ more  surely  gained  the  confidence  of  all  who  ap- 
proached him,  or  held  it  firmer ; and  those  who 
knew  him  best  loved  him  most.  In  the  manage- 
ment of  his  causes,  he  went  with  zeal  and  direct- 
ness of  purpose  to  every  point  which  could  sustain 
it.  There  was  no  travelling  out  of  the  record  with 


THE  ANCESTRY  OF  THE  POET. 


31 


him,  nor  a wandering  away  from  the  line  of  his 
argument  after  figures  of  speech  or  fine  rhetoric  ; 
but  he  was  plain,  straightforward,  and  effective  in 
his  appeals  to  the  jury,  and  by  his  frank  and  cordial 
manner  won  them  to  his  cause.”  “ Such  in  public 
life,”  says  another  writer,  “ was  the  father  of  Henry 
Wadsworth  Longfellow.  In  the  domestic  circle  the 
noble  traits  of  his  character  were  no  less  apparent. 
His  home  was  one  of  refinement  and  the  purest 
social  virtues ; and  she  who  shared  its  direction  with 
him  not  only  adorned  it  with  rare  womanly  grace, 
but  gave  to  it  many  an  added  charm.” 


32 


HEJSIKY  WADSWOETH  LONGFELLOW. 


CHAPTER  II. 

BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 

(1807-1821.) 

Henry  wadsworth  longfellow, 

second  son  of  Stephen  and  Zilpah  Longfellow, 
was  born  in  Portland,  Me.,  on  the  27th  of  February, 
1807. 

At  the  time  of  this  interesting  and  now  memorable 
event,  the  parents  were,  as  we  have  already  observed, 
sojourning  for  a season  in  the  house  of  Capt.  Samuel 
Stephenson,  situated  on  that  part  of  Fore  Street 
fronting  the  beach,  east  of  India  Street,  near  where 
the  paternal  grandfather  had  lived  just  previous  to 
the  burning  of  the  town  by  Mowatt  in  1775.  For  a 
long  time  this  had  been  recognized  as  the  fashionable 
locality  of  the  town,  and  not  a few  of  the  most 
prominent  people  in  the  town  were  dwellers  along 
the  line  of  this  beach.  As  far  back  as  1632,  the 
spot  had  been  settled  by  George  Cleaves;  and,  for 
nearly  two  centuries  afterwards,  it  commanded  a 
fine  view  of  the  harbor,  the  cape,  and  the  islands  of 
Casco  Bay.  But  since,  with  the  flight  of  years,  the 
scene  has  been  altered ; the  beach  has  disappeared , 
and  the  waters  of  the  harbor  have  been  pushed 
farther  out,  by  the  land  made  for  the  extension  of 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


33 


the  tracks  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Railway,  whose  en- 
gine-house now  occupies  the  site  of  Fort  Loyal,  cap- 
tured by  the  French  and  Indians  in  1690.  The 
garrison  was  carried  captive  through  the  wilderness 
to  Montreal,  the  objective  point  of  the  railroad 
whose  trains  now  start  from  the  same  spot. 

The  house  in  which  the  future  poet  was  born  is 
still  standing  on  its  ancient  site  at  the  corner  of 


Longfellow's  Birthplace  as  it  appears  in  1882. 

Fore  and  Hancock  Streets  ; and  it  is  a matter  of  con- 
gratulation, that,  in  the  great  confiagration  which 
swept  the  city  in  1866,  this  famous  building  escaped 
the  devouring  element.  Tlie  liouse  was  built  by  one 
Campbell,  who  afterwards  became  known  as  a truck- 
man. Forty  years  ago  it  was  occupied  by  the  late 
Jedediah  Dow,  on  the  Hancock-street  side,  and  the 


34 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


late  Joshua  Emery  in  tlie  part  fronting  on  the  beach. 
The  accompanying  illustration  exhibits  the  house 
just  as  it  appears  to-day,  and,  with  one  exceptional 
feature,  just  as  it  always  appeared  to  the  passer-by. 
The  projection,  which  is  seen  on  one  corner,  on  the 
front,  is  an  addition  of  latter  years,  built  for  the 
accommodation  of  a shop  in  the  basement  or  cellar. 
But  now  the  old  mansion  has  seen  its  best  days;  the 
weight  of  years  has  told  somewhat  heavily  on  its 
skeleton,  and  its  airy  rooms  are  now  tenanted  by 
several  families.^ 

We  know  not  what  signs  prognosticated  the  birth 
of  the  young  infant,  whose  name  and  fame  were  des- 
tined to  become  household  words  throughout  the 
civilized  world.  But  we  may  assume  that  they  were 
all  auspicious,  even  though  no  one  could  divine  in 
them  prospects  of  future  greatness.  It  was  for- 
tunate for  any  child  to  have  been  born  of  such 
parentage,  and  amid  such  surroundings.  In  the 
family  circle  centred  all  those  traits  of  culture  and 
refinement,  and  those  pure  social  virtues,  which  can 
but  impart  strength  to  infancy,  and  inspire  youth. 
On  the  one  hand  was  a father  of  well-trained  and 
well-balanced  mind,  not  old  in  years,  but  yet  expe- 
rienced in  good  works,  a prominent  member  of  tlie 
bar,  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  respect  of  his 

1 The  house  in  which  the  poet  was  horn  is  known  to  all  the 
school-children  in  Portland.  One  day,  not  long  since,  a teacher  in 
one  of  the  public  schools,  after  giving  divers  lessons  on  Longfellow’s 
beautiful  life,  asked  her  pupils  if  any  of  them  knew  where  the  poet 
was  born.  A little  hand  went  uj)  in  a hurry;  and  a small  voice  piped 
forth,  “in  Patsey  Connor’s  bedroom,” — Master  Connor  being  now 
one  of  the  occupants  of  the  old  Longfellow  house. 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


35 


fellow-townsmen.  On  the  other  hand,  a mother 
who  shared  with  her  husband  all  fair  and  noble 
traits,  and' who  was  still  further  adorned  with  a rare 
womanly  grace,  an  evenness  and  gentleness  of  tem- 
per, and  an  affectionate  regard  for  whatever  is  best 
in  life.  To  such  parents,  a child,  even  though  he 
were  the  second,  could  not  have  come  unbidden ; 
and,  such  being  the  case,  it  was  not  possible  for  him 
not  to  liave  combined  in  his  own  nature  much  that 
was  admirable  and  common  to  both.  If,  in  form  and 
figure  and  in  physiognomy,  there  was  much  that 
reminded  of  his  mother,  and  of  the  Wadsworth  side 
of  the  house,  there  were  not  wanting  evidences  of 
those  marked  qualities  of  mind  and  person  which 
had  so  forcibly  characterized  his  paternal  ancestry 
through  many  generations.  When  it  came  time  to 
bestow  a name,  the  mother’s  heart  went  out  ten- 
derly towards  that  gallant  brother,  Lieut.  Henry 
Wadsworth,  who,  before  Tripoli,  surrendered  his 
life  while  bravely  serving  his  country;  and  in  token 
of  him,  his  uncle,  was  the  infant  named. 

When  the  spring  season  had  fairly  opened,  Ste- 
phen Longfellow  moved  his  family  into  the  brick 
house  built  by  Gen.  Wadsworth,  and  which  the 
latter  had  forsaken  not  many  weeks  before.  In  this 
grand  old  mansion  the  child  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow  spent  the  early  years  of  his  youth. 

He  had  scarcel3"  attained  the  age  of  five  years, 
when  it  was  determined,  in  the  home  circle,  that  he 
should  be  put  to  school.  At  that  time  the  modern 
kindergarten  was  unknown,  and  not  yet  had  school- 
masters and  school-dames  become  conscious  of  the 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


3() 

fact  that  j)leasures  and  pastimes  are  potent  auxilia- 
ries in  a course  of  mental  training.  Not  far  from 
the  home  of  the  Longfellows,  in  Spring  Street,  just 
above  High  Street,  stood  a small  brick  schoolhouse, 
presided  over  by  Ma’am  Fellows,  a most  exemplary 
lady,  wlio  had  taught  scliool  *’  for  many  years,  and 
liad  grown  gray  in  the  practice  of  rigid  discipline. 
She  was  a firm  believer  in  the  idea  that  “one  should 
never  smile  in  school-hours,”  and  she  exercised  her 
views  on  this  topic  very  much  to  the  terror  of  the 
young  striplings  who  were  placed  under  her  charge. 
“ My  recollections  of  my  first  teacher,”  said  the  poet, 
after  the  lapse  of  threescore  and  ten  years,  “ are  not 
vivid : but  I recall  that  she  was  bent  on  giving  me  a 
right  start  in  life ; that  she  thought  that  even  very 
young  children  should  be  made  to  know  the  differ- 
ence between  right  and  wrong ; and  that  severity  of 
manner  was  more  practical  than  gentleness  of  per- 
suasion. She  inspired  me  with  one  trait,  — that  is, 
a genuine  respect  for  my  elders.” 

For  some  reason,  — it  is  forgotten  what,  — the  boy 
did  not  long  remain  a pupil  of  Ma’am  Fellows ; and, 
after  the  first  vacation,  lie  was  sent  by  his  parents  to 
the  town-school  on  Love  Lane,  now  Centre  Street, 
where  he  i-emained  just  a fortnight.  He  was  then 
placed  in  a private  school,  presided  over  by  Nathaniel 
H.  Carter,  which  was  kept  in  a small,  one-story 
wooden  building  oii  the  west  side  of  Preble  Street, 
near  Congress.  Me  continued  to  be  a pupil  at  this 
school  until  Mr.  Carter  became  an  instructor  in  the 
Portland  Academy,  at  which  time  he  attracted  many 
of  his  old  pupils,  including  Henry  Wadsworth,  to 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


37 


his  new  field  of  labor.  In  those  days,  colleges  were 
few,  and  academies  numerous ; and  of  these  New- 
England  academies,  at  which  those  at  East  Hampton, 
Andover,  and  Exeter  still  survive  to  attest  to  what 
we  have  lost,  a deservedly  prominent  one  was  that 
at  Portland.  Thither  was  young  Longfellow  trans- 
ferred to  be  prepared  for  college,  — at  first  under  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Carter,  and  subsequently  under  the 
head-master,  Mr.  Bezaleel  Cushman,  a graduate  of 
Dartmouth  College,  who  assumed  charge  of  the 
academy  in  1815,  and  occupied  the  position  upwards 
of  twenty -six  years.  Mr.  Cushman  afterwards  be- 
came one  of  the  editors  of  “ The  New-York  Evening 
Post,”  and,  during  a sojourn  in  Europe,  furnished  to 
its  columns  a brilliant  series  of  letters,  — then  as  dis- 
tinguishing a feature  of  metropolitan  journalism  as 
their  absence  would  be  at  the  present  day.  Another 
teacher,  to  whom  belongs  the  honor  of  having  im- 
parted to  the  future  poet  many  valuable  lessons,  was 
the  late  Mr.  Jacob  Abbott,  at  that  time  an  usher  in 
the  academy,  and  an  apprentice  in  the  art  of  school- 
teaching.^ 

1 Jacob  Abbott  was  born  at  Hallowell,  Me.,  Nov.  14,  1803.  He 
graduated  from  Bowdoin  College  in  the  class  of  1820;  studied  the- 
ology at  Andover  from  1822  to  1824;  was  tutor  at  Amherst  College  in 
1824-5;  and  was  appointed  professor  of  mathematics  in  the  same 
institution  in  1825,  and  held  the  position  until  1829;  became  prin- 
cipal of  the  Mount  Vernon  School  (for  young  ladies)  in  Boston  in 
1829,  and  remained  there  until  1834.  During  the  next  two  years  he 
was  ]>astor  of  the  Eliot  Church  in  Roxbury.  Mr.  Abbott’s  reputation 
as  an  author  was  established  by  the  “ Young  Christian  ” series,  begun 
in  1825;  but  he  is  best  known  as  the  author  of  the  “Rollo”  books 
(28  volumes),  and  other  stories  for  youth,  some  of  which  have  been 
translated  into  the  various  languages  of  Europe  and  Asia.  His 
death  occurred  on  Oct.  31, 1879. 


38 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW 


Under  such  inspiring  teachers,  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow’s  progress  was  rapid ; and  in  1821  he  was 
able  to  enroll  his  name  as  a freshman  in  Bowdoin 
College.  He  was  then  in  the  fourteentli  year  of  liis 
age ; and  the  fact  of  his  being  ready  at  such  an  age 
for  college,  though  not  unprecedented,  was  early,  even 
for  that  time,  when  colleges  were  less  exacting  and 
hoys  more  precocious  than  now. 

Already  had  the  boy  given  evidences  that  led 
others  to  the  expectation  that  his  would  be  a literary 
career.  While  yet  in  his  ninth  year,  he  wrote  his 
first  verses.  There  is  a tradition  that  his  master 
wanted  him  to  write  a composition,  a task  from 
which  the  boy  very  naturally  shrank. 

“You  can  write  words,  can  you  not?”  asked  the 
teacher. 

“Yes,”  was  the  response. 

“ Then,  you  can  put  words  together  ? ” 

“ Yes,  sir.” 

“ Then,”  said  the  instructor,  “ you  may  take  your 
slate,  and  go  out  behind  the  schoolhouse,  and  there 
you  can  find  something  to  write  about ; and  then 
you  can  tell  what  it  is,  what  it  is  for,  and  what 
is  to  be  done  with  it ; and  that  will  be  a compo- 
sition.” 

Henry  took  his  slate  and  went  out.  He  went  be- 
hind Mr.  Finney’s  barn,  which  chanced  to  be  near ; 
and,  seeing  a fine  turnip  growing  up,  he  thought  he 
knew  what  that  was,  what  it  was  for,  and  what  would 
be  done  with  it. 

A half-hour  had  been  allowed  young  Henry  for  his 
first  undertaking  in  writing  compositions.  Within 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


39 


the  prescribed  time  he  carried  in  his  work,  all  ac- 
complished, and  surprised  his  teacher.^ 

When  the  boy  Avas  barely  thirteen  years  of  age, 
and  still  a pupil  at  the  Portland  Academy,  he  com- 
posed a bolder  effort,  which  is  still  preserved  in  man- 
uscript, entitled  “Venice,  an  Italian  Song.”  The 
manuscript  is  dated  “ Portland  Academy,  March 
17,  1820,”  and  is  signed  with  the  full  name  of  the 
writer. 

The  first  published  poem  of  young  Longfellow  was 
on  “ Lovewell’s  Fight.”  It  was  composed  while  he 
was  attending  the  academy,  and  just  after  he  had  been 
reading  an  account  of  the  French  and  Indian  war. 
Having  written  it  to  his  taste,  and  copied  it  neatly 
on  a fresh  sheet  of  paper,  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
him  that  it  was  worthy  of  being  printed.  The  young 
author  had  never  yet  seen  aught  of  his  compositions 
in  type ; and,  unlike  many  Avriters  of  later  day,  he 
Avas  extremely  shy  about  making  a beginning.  But 
the  persuasion  of  one  of  his  schoolfelloAvs  overcame 
his  modesty;  and  so,  late  on  a certain  evening,  he 
mustered  up  courage  to  go  and  drop  the  manuscript 
into  the  editorial-box  of  one  of  the  tAvo  Aveekly 
newspapers  then  published  in  the  town.  He  waited 
patiently  for  the  next  issue  of  the  paper,  and  Avas 
not  a little  chagrined  to  find,  that,  when  it  did  ap- 
pear,— the  poem  Avas  left  out.  The  weeks  flew  by, 
and  still  the  poem  remained  unpublished.  In  a fit 
of  disgust,  the  young  author  repaired  to  the  editorial 

1 Mr.  Owen  first  related  to  me  this  aiu^cdote.  The  i)oem,  how- 
ever, is  not  in  existence;  though  what  purports  to  he  the  poem  (a 
composition  of  recent  date  and  by  other  hands)  is,  I observe,  afioat 
in  the  newspapers. 


40 


HKNKY  WADSWOKTH  LONGFELLOW. 


sanctum,  and  demanded  the  return  of  the  manuscript. 
The  recpiest  was  granted ; and  Longfellow  then  car- 
ried it  to  the  editor  of  the  rival  newspaper,  — “The 
Portland  Gazette,”  — by  whom  it  was  accepted  and 
published.  Thenceforth  the  poet  was  at  liberty  to 
print  in  the  columns  of  the  journal  whatever  he 
might  happen  to  write  ; nor  did  he  permit  the  oppor- 
tunity to  slip  by  unimproved. 1 

And  now,  for  a few  moments,  let  us  glance  at  some 
of  the  surroundings  of  the  young  poet.  It  is  interest- 
ing at  all  times  to  note  the  early  surroundings  of  a 
great  man,  whatever  may  be  the  field  of  his  great- 
ness ; and  especially  is  this  true  of  a great  poet,  who 
has  woven  into  his  verses,  as  has  Longfellow,  so  many 
recollections  of  his  boyhood.  The  year  1807  is  not 
only  illustrious  on  account  of  the  birth  of  Longfel- 
low : it  was  also  a year  of  marked  events  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  place  of  his  birth.  It  witnessed  the 
beginning  of  many  things  whose  influence  impressed 
the  mind  of  Longfellow,  and  still  remains  with  the 
people  of  the  town.  In  this  year  was  also  born 
another  poet  in  Portland,  — the  late  Nathaniel  P. 
Willis; 2 in  the  same  year,  the  Rev.  Edward  Payson 
began,  as  the  colleague  of  Rev.  Elijah  Kellogg,  his 

1 Mr.  Longfellow  was  exceedingly  fond  of  this  theme,  and  once 
told  me  that  he  intended  sometime  to  write  on  it  again.  Several 
amusing  incidents  grew  out  of  our  search  for  an  old  ballad  on  Love- 
well’s  Fight,  which  he  was  very  anxious  to  obtain.  I shall  allude 
to  these  in  a later  chapter. 

Nathaniel  Parker  Willis  was  born  in  Portland,  Jan.  20, 1807.  Re- 
moved to  Boston,  wliere  he  attended  the  Latin  School,  and  subse- 
quently Phillips  Academy  at  Andover  ; was  graduated  from  Yale 
College  in  the  class  of  1827.  He  then  entered  upon  that  literary 
career  which  gave  him  fame  and  fortune,  and  which  he  continued 
almost  to  the  close  of  his  life.  He  died  Jan.  20,  1807. 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


41 


wonderful  pastorate  of  twenty  years  in  Portland  ; in 
the  same  year,  the  third  parish  meeting-house,  in 
which  the  late  Rev.  Dr.  Dwight  so  long  officiated, 
was  built.  But  perhaps  the  most  memorable  event 
of  all  others  was  the  fact  that  the  commerce  of  Port 
land,  which  had  gone  on  increasing  with  giant 
strides  for  a period  of  more  than  ten  years,  and  had 


The  Old  Wharf. 


at  length  reached  a high  state  of  prosperity,  suddenly 
fell,  ill  1807,  under  the  crushing  stroke  of  the  em- 
bargo, and  caused  ruin  and  disaster  throughout  the 
entire  community.  It  was  the  culmination  of  a 
jieriod  of  great  prosperity,  and  the  beginning  of  a 
season  of  adversity,  ending  in  the  calamities  of  war. 
Navigation  fell  off  nine  thousand  tons  in  two  years: 


42 


lENRY  WADSWORTH  I.ONCJFRLLOW. 


all  the  various  classes  to  whom  it  gave  support  were 
thrown  out  of  employment,  and  many  large  houses 
were  forced  to  suspend  payment.  The  greatest  dis- 
tress prevailed  everywhere,  and  “the  grass  literally 
grew  upon  the  wharves.” 

Five  years  later  came  the  second  war  with  Eng- 
land, which,  for  the  time  being,  gave  a slight  impulse 
to  activity.  Several  privateers  were  fitted  out,  com- 
panies were  organized,  and  fortifications  were  thrown 
up  on  Munjoy’s  Hill,  at  the  north-eastern  extremit}^ 
of  the  Neck,  and  garrisons  were  established  in  them. 
Here  begin  the  recollections  of  the  poet,  then  a boy 
of  six  years  of  age,  as  recorded  in  his  poem  of  “ My 
Lost  Youth.” 

“ I remember  the  bulwarks  by  the  shore, 

And  the  fort  upon  the  hill ; 

The  sunrise  gun,  with  its  hollow  roar. 

The  drum-beat  repeated  o’er  and  o’er. 

And  the  bugle  wild  and  shrill. 

And  the  music  of  that  old  song 
Throbs  in  my  memory  still: 

‘A  boy’s  will  is  the  wind’s  will, 

And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts.’” 

On  Sept.  4,  1813,  “The  Boxer,”  British  brig  of 
war,  Capt.  S.  Blythe,  was  captured  off  the  Maine 
coast  by  the  American  brig  “ Enterprise,”  Lieut.  W. 
Burrows,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  seventh  was 
brought  into  Portland  Harbor.  On  the  next  day 
both  commanders,  who  had  been  killed  in  the  en- 
counter, were  buried  with  imposing  and  impressive 
ceremonies  in  the  cemetery  at  the  foot  of  Munjoy’s 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


43 


Hill.  The  poet  thus  records  his  recollection  of  this 
solemn  event : — 

“ I remember  the  sea-fight  far  away, 

How  it  thundered  o’er  the  tide ! 

And  the  dead  captains,  as  they  lay 

In  their  graves,  o’erlooking  the  tranquil  bay, 

Where  they  in  battle  died.” 

Peace  came  in  1815,  and  not  before  this  event 
did  the  town  fully  recover  from  the  hardships  occa- 
sioned by  the  embargo.  For  several  years  afterwards, 
prosperity  and  the  population  increased  slowly  but 
surely.  In  the  year  1800,  there  were  3,704  inhabit- 
ants in  the  town ; in  1810,  they  had  increased  to 
7,169 ; and  in  1820,  there  were  but  8,581.  It  is  in 
this  little  town  of  barely  8,000  inhabitants  that  we 
have  now  to  picture  to  ourselves  as  the  scene  of 
Longfellow’s  boyhood,  — 

“ The  beautiful  town 
That  is  seated  by  the  sea.” 

It  lay  chiefly  on  the  narrow  peninsula,  or  “Neck,” 
in  the  depression  between  the  two  hills  which  mark 
its  extremities,  — Munjoy  Hill  and  Bramhall.  With- 
in the  space  of  two  centuries,  the  ground  had  become 
historic.  It  was  a pleasant  site,  not  then,  as  now, 
hemmed  in  by  new-made  land  encroaching  on  the 
sea.  It  commanded  a full  view  of  the  waters  of  the 
bay,  and  those 

“ Islands  that  were  the  Hesperides 
Of  all  my  boyish  dreams.” 


44 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Almost  in  front  of  tlie  birthplace  of  the  poet,  and 
skirting  the  road  on  the  seaward  side,  lay  the  beach, 
the  scene  of  many  a baptism  on  a sabbath-day.  But 
it  was  not  here  that  the  poet  spent  liis  boyhood ; for, 
with  the  growth  of  the  town,  his  parents  moved  on. 


Birthplace  of  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 


and,  at  a later  period,  established  themselves  in  what 
is  now  the  heart  of  the  city. 

With  the  revival  of  commerce  after  the  war,  trade 
with  the  West  Indies  sprang  up ; and  “low-decked 
brigs  carried  out  cargoes  of  lumber  and  dried  fish, 
bringing  back  sugar,  rum,  and  molasses.”  The  dis- 
charging of  a full  cargo  was  wont  to  set  the  whole 
town  in  an  uproar,  and  the  wharves  (chiefly  Long 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


45 


Wharf  and  Portland  Pier)  “ resounded  with  the 
songs  of  the  negro  stevedores  hoisting  the  hogsheads 
from  the  hold  without  the  aid  of  a winch : the  long 
trucks  with  heavy  loads  were  tugged  by  straining 
horses,  under  the  whips  and  loud  cries  of  the  truck- 
men. Liquor  was  lavishly  supplied  to  laboring  men, 
and  it  made  them  turbulent  and  uproarious.” 

A well-known  author,  who  has  done  not  a little 
to  unfold  the  glories  and  to  preserve  the  old-time 
recollections  of  his  native  State  (the  Rev.  Elijah  Kel- 
logg),i  has  given  us  the  following  lively  picture  of 
Portland  at  this  time,  on  a winter  morning : — 

“ Then  you  might  liave  seen  lively  times.  A string 
of  board-teams  from  George  Libby’s  to  Portland 
Pier ; sleds  growling ; surve}' ors  running  about  like 
madmen,  a shingle  in  one  hand  and  a rule-staff  in 
the  other ; cattle  white  with  frost,  and  their  nostrils 
hung  with  icicles ; teamsters  screaming  and  halloo- 
ing; Herrick's  tavern  and  Huckler’s  Row  lighted 
up,  and  the  loggerheads  hot  to  give  customers  their 
morning-dram.” 

Of  such  scenes  as  these,  and  of  others  which  com- 
mingled with  them,  the  poet  sings, — 

“ I remember  the  black  wharves  and  the  slips, 

And  the  sea-tides  tossing  free  ; 

And  Spanish  sailors  with  bearded  lips, 

And  the  beauty  and  mystery  of  the  ships, 

And  the  magic  of  the  sea.” 

1 Now  known  as  the  author  of  tlie  “Elm  Island”  stories,  the 
“Pleasant  Cove”  seri<*s,  the  “Whispering  Pine”  series,  etc.  His 
story  of  Good  Old  Times  ahounds  in  pleasant  pictures  of  life  in  the 
early  days  in  the  State  of  Maine,  and,  though  written  for  young 
people,  will  be  heartily  enjoyed  hy  older  readers. 


46 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


At  this  time  also,  Portland  had  quite  a lumber- 
trade  ; and,  as  if  this  were  not  enough  to  cause  a 
tumult,  it  had  furthermore  its  distilleries  and  tan- 
neries and  rope  walks  and  a pottery.  The  two  last 
impressed  themselves  on  the  mind  of  the  boy  Long- 
fellow, and,  after  many  }^ears,  suggested  to  him  the 
poem  of  “The  Ropewalk,”  whose  familiar  stanzas, 
begin  as  follows : — 

“ In  that  building,  long  and  low, 

With  its  windows  all  a-row, 

Like  the  port-holes  of  a hulk, 

Human  spiders  spin  and  spin. 

Backward  down  their  threads  so  thin 
Dropping,  each  a hempen  bulk. 

All  these  scenes  do  I behold. 

These,  and  many  left  untold. 

In  that  building  long  and  low ; 

While  the  wheel  goes  round  and  round. 

With  a drowsy,  dreamy  sound. 

And  the  spinners  backward  go.” 

Also  the  poem  “ Keramos,”  — 

“Turn,  turn,  my  wheel ! Turn  round  and  round 
Without  a pause,  without  a sound ; 

So  spins  the  flying  world  away  ! ” 

But  let  us  go  back  over  threescore  years,  and  look 
farther  into  the  heart  of  the  “ dear  old  town.'’  In 
Middle  Street,  blocks  of  brick  stores  have  already 
begun  to  take  the  place  of  the  dwelling-houses, 
where  once  lived  many  of  the  gentry  of  the  town. 
Market  Square  is,  on  all  sides,  surrounded  by  small 
wooden  shops ; and  on  the  left,  as  we  enter  the 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


47 


square,  stands  Marstoii's  tavern,  to  which  Mo  watt 
was  taken  as  a prisoner  by  Col.  Thompson  and  his 
men,  in  June,  1775.  Not  far  off,  in  the  centre  of 
the  square,  stand  the  hay-scales,  and  next  to  them 
the  market-house,  and,  just  beyond,  a small  row  of 
wooden  shops,  terminating  in  “a  heater,”  nearly 
opposite  the  head  of  Preble  Street.  At  the  corner 
of  Preble  Street  stands  the  brick  mansion,  sur- 
rounded with  a spacious  garden,  of  the  widow  of 
Commodore  Edward  Preble,  the  hero  of  Tripoli ; 
and  adjacent,  “somewhat  back  from  the  village 
street,”  is  the  brick  house  built  by  Gen.  Wadsworth, 
and,  since  1807,  occupied  by  Stephen  Longfellow, 
Esq.  This  is  the  home  — not  the  birthplace,  be  it 
remembered  — of  the  future  poet. 

In  front  of  these  mansions,  extending  from  Preble 
nearly  to  Brown  Street,  is  the  wood-market,  “ where 
the  teams,  loaded  with  cord-wood  brought  in  from  the 
country,  stand,  beneath  the  shade  of  a row  of  trees, 
with  a railing  between  them  and  the  sidewalk.  The 
patient  oxen  feed  upon  the  hay  thrown  upon  the 
ground,  while  the  wood-surveyor  measures  the  loads, 
and  the  teamsters  bargain  with  the  townsmen.”  Not 
far  off  stands  “The  Freemasons’ Arms,”  the  tavern 
erected  by  Thomas  Motley,  grandhither  of  Thomas 
Lothrop  Motley,  the  historian  of  the  Netherlands. 
At  this  time,  however.  Motley  is  dead;  and  the  tavern 
is  kept  by  Sukey  Barker.  A short  distance  beyond 
Motley’s,  Oak  Street  enters  Main  Street ; and  in  the 
former  thoroughfare  we  catch  a glimpse  of  a grove 
of  thrifty  red-oaks  : and  next  beyond  is  Green  Street, 
which  leads  down  to  Deeriug’s  Woods,  where  for 


48 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


generations  the  boys  of  Portland  have  gathered 
acorns,  and  of  which  the  poet  sings,  — 

“ And  Deering’s  Woods  are  fresh  and  fair; 

And  with  joy  that  is  almost  pain 
My  heart  goes  back  to  wander  there, 

And  among  the  dreams  of  the  days  that  were, 

I find  my  lost  youth  again.” 

Coincident  with  the  progress  of  commercial  enter- 
prise was  the  growth  of  literature.  Parson  Thomas 
Smith  had  already  jotted  down  his  quaint  observa- 
tions on  life  in  Falmouth,  and  later  generations  were 
perusing  them  with  more  than  ordinary  interest. 
His  associate  and  colleague,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Deane, 
had,  in  1790,  published  his  “ Georgical  Dictionary,” 
which  was  now  the  authority  in  all  matters  pertain- 
ing to  agriculture.  The  same  author  had  also  sung 
the  praises  of  “ Pitchwood  Hill  ” in  verse.  In  1816, 
however,  occurred  the  literary  event  in  Portland, 
which  was  long  to  be  remembered,  namely,  the  pub- 
lication of  Enoch  Lincoln’s  poem  of  “ The  Village,” 
of  upwards  of  two  thousand  lines,  “remarkable  for 
its  advanced  moral  sentiment,  anticipating  many  of 
the  reforms  of  our  day,  as  well  as  for  its  erudition 
and  its  evenly  sustained  poetical  merit.”  ^ 

1 Enoch  Lincoln,  a son  of  Levi  Lincoln,  was  horn  in  Worcester, 
Mass.,  in  1788.  Studied  at  Harvard,  became  a lawyer  in  1811,  and 
settled  at  Fryeburg,  Me.,  — the  scenery  of  which  beautiful  fOrest-town 
he  described  in  his  poem  of  The  Village,  published  in  i81(;.  He 
was  a member  of  Congress  from  1818  to  182G,  and  governor  of  Maine 
from  1827  to  1829.  He  delivered  a poem  at  the  centennial  celebration 
of  the  Lovewell’s  Pond  Fight,  was  a warm  friend  of  the  Indians,  and 
left  behind  him  valuable  historical  manuscripts.  He  died  Oct.  8, 
1829. 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD. 


49 


Education  was  advancing,  and  “a  number  of 
young  men  were  coming  upon  the  stage  of  action 
who  were  to  shed  the  lustre  of  letters  upon  the 
town.”  Among  these  were  Nathaniel  Deering,  born 
in  Portland  in  1791,  whose  five-act  tragedies  — “ Car- 
rabassett”  and  “ Bozzaris  ” — have  been  much  ad- 
mired; John  Neal,  born  in  1793,  whose  vigorous 
poem,  “The  Battle  of  Niagara,”  was  published  in 
1816,  and  awakened  much  enthusiasm  ; and  Gren- 
ville Mellen,  born  in  Biddeford  in  1799,  who  came  to 
Portland  during  his  early  manhood.  Among  these 
elders  walked  the  boy  Longfellow,  interested  in  what 
they  produced,  and  profiting  by  what  they  taught, 
who  would  yet  outstrip  them  all. 

In  social  life  democratic  ideas  were  prevalent, 
not  alone  in  matters  of  dress,  but  also  of  etiquette. 
“ Cocked  hats,  bush  wigs,  and  knee-breeches  are 
passing  out,  and  pantaloons  have  come  in.  Old 
men  still  wear  cues  and  spencers,  and  disport  their 
shrunken  shanks  in  silk  stockings.  A homely  style 
of  speech  prevails  among  the  common  people.  Old 
men  are  ‘daddies,’  old  ladies  are  ‘inarms,’  ship- 
masters are  ‘ skippers,’  and  school-teachers  are  ‘ mas- 
ters.’ There  are  no  stoves,  and  open  fires  and 
brick  ovens  are  in  universal  use.  The  fire  is 
raked  up  at  night,  and  rekindled  in  the  morning 
by  the  use  of  flint,  steel,  and  tinder-boxes.  Nearly 
every  house  has  its  barn,  in  which  is  kept  the  cow, 
pastured  during  the  day  on  ^lunjoy.  The  boys 
go  after  the  cows  at  nightfall,  driving  them  home 
< through  the  streets.  There  are  few  private  carriages 
kept  in  town,  and  fewer  public  vehicles. 


50  HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

“The  coin  in  circulation  is  chiefly  Spanish  dollars, 
halves,  quarters,  pistareens,  eighths,  and  sixteenths, 
— the  latter  two  of  which  are  known  as  ninepence 
and  fourpence  'alf-pennies.  Federal  money  is  so  little 
recognized  that  prices  are  still  reckoned  in  shillings 
and  pence,  — two  and  six,  three  and  ninepence,  seven 
and  sixpence. 

“ It  is  a journey  of  two  days,  by  the  accommoda- 
tion stage,  to  Boston,  costing  eight  to  ten  dollars. 
If  you  go  by  the  mail-stage,  you  may  be  bounced 
through,  with  aching  bones,  in  the  liours  between 
two  o’clock  in  the  morning  and  ten  at  night ; or  you 
may  take  a coaster,  and  perhaps  be  a week  on  the 
passage.” 

There  were  two  newspapers  published  in  the 
town,  — “ The  Portland  Gazette  ” and  “ The  Eastern 
Argus,” — both  appearing  once  a week.  Amuse- 
ments were  scarce,  and  not  before  1820  were  the- 
atrical performances  sanctioned.  In  the  summer 
season  well-to-do  people  went  on  excursions  among 
the  islands,  and  occasionally  there  was  a capsize  Avith 
loss  of  life.  During  the  winter  sleighing-parties 
drove  out  to  “ Broad’s  ” for  a dance  and  a supper. 
At  such  times  hearts  were  merry  ; and,  it  is  no  secret, 
flip  and  punch  flowed  freely,  rendering  sobriety  the 
exception  and  not  the  rule. 

Such  was  “ the  beautiful  town  that  is  seated  by 
the  sea ; ” and  such  were  the  scenes  to  which  the 
thoughts  of  the  poet  go  back,  in  after  years,  with 
a man’s  love  for  the  haunts  of  his  childliood.^ 


1 I am  under  deep  obligation  to  rny  friend,  Mr.  Edward  H. 
Elwell  of  The  Portland  Transcript,  who  has  permitted  me  to  make 


BIRTH  AND  EARLY  CHILDHOOD.  51 

Here  he  recalled  the  sports  of  boyhood,  and  found 
his  “lost  youth  again.” 

In  passing,  I must  not  forget  to  mention  at  least 
one  of  the  friends  and  associates  of  Longfellow's 
early  boyhood,  — his  cousin,  John  Owen.  He  was 
born  in  Portland  in  1806,  and,  with  Longfellow, 
attended  the  school  of  Ma’am  Fellows,  also  the  Port- 
land Academy.  They  were  subsequently  students 
together  in  Bowdoin  College  ; though  they  were  not 
in  the  same  class,  Owen  being  a member  of  the 
class  of  1827. 

After  his  graduation,  Owen  came  to  Cambridge 
and  studied  divinity.  He  never  preached  much,  how- 
ever, and  soon  made  choice  of  a business,  in  prefer- 
ence to  a professional  career.  In  1834  he  entered 
into  the  book  business  in  Cambridge,  and  in  1836 
became  sole  proprietor,  his  former  partners  having 
sold  out  their  interest  in  the  same.  He  failed  in 
1848,  and  the  store  (which,  by  the  way,  was  on  the 
corner  of  Holyoke  and  Main  Streets  where  a jeweller’s 
shop  now  stands)  went  back  into  the  hands  of  its 
original  proprietors.  Tbencefortli  Mr.  Owen  spent 
his  time  almost  wholly  in  study  and  literary  pursuits, 
at  the  same  time  doing  what  he  could  to  improve  and 
adorn  the  spacious  grounds  that  surrounded  his 
home. 

The  intimacy  existing  between  the  poet  and  his 
friend  Owen  was  lifelong:  indeed,  the  relation  of 
friendship  was  a bond  of  union  more  like  that  which 


free  use  of  tlie  very  interestini;  memoir  on  The  Portland  of  Long- 
fellow’s Youth,  which  he  wrote  and  published  at  the  time  of  the 
Longfellow  birthday  celebration. 


52 


HENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


lias  subsisted  between  Emerson  and  Alcott.  Long- 
fellow was  the  gentlest  of  poets ; and  doubtless  the 
chief  attraction  for  him  in  the  society  and  companion- 
ship of  his  cousin  lay  in  Mr.  Owen’s  gentle  and 
amiable  traits  of  character. 

In  the  course  of  these  memoirs,  I shall  have  occa- 
sion to  quote  freely  Mr.  Owen’s  recollections  of  that 
unalloyed  friendship  which  extended  over  nearly 
three-quarters  of  a century.  He  it  was  who  best 
knew  and  appreciated  the  poet’s  onward  march  to 
fame,  was  the  mild  counsellor  in  all  his  work,  and 
the  trusted  Achates  to  whom  he  might  repair  in 
times  of  trial  and  perplexit}^  for  sympathy  and  en- 
couragement. 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


53 


CHAPTER  III. 

COLLEGE  DAYS. 

{1821-1825.) 

IN  his  anonymous  prose  romance  called  “Fan- 
shawe,”  ^ a book,  by  the  by,  which  more  nearly 
approaches  a novel  than  any  of  his  later  works, 
Hawthorne  has  pictured  some  of  the  aspects  of  the 
college  at  Brunswick.  He  says,  — 

“From  the  exterior  of  the  collegians,  an  accurate 
observer  might  pretty  safely  judge  how  long  they 
had  been  inmates  of  those  classic  walls.  The  brown 
cheeks  and  the  rustic  dress  of  some  would  inform 
him  that  they  had  but  recently  left  the  plough  to  la- 
bor in  a not  less  toilsome  field.  The  grave  look,  and 
the  intermingling  of  garments  of  a more  classic  cut, 
would  distinguish  those  who  had  begun  to  acquire 
the  polish  of  their  new  residence ; and  the  air  of 
superiority,  the  paler  cheek,  the  less  robust  form,  the 
spectacles  of  green,  and  the  dress  in  general  of 

1 Fanshawe  was  published  three  years  after  Hawthorne’s  gradu- 
ation, in  Boston,  by  Marsh  & Capen;  hut  “ so  successful  was  Haw- 
thorne in  his  attempt  to  exterminate  the  edition,  that  not  half  a 
dozen  copies  are  now  known  to  be  extant.”  It  is  affirmed  to  be 
“ a faint  reflection  from  the  young  Salem  recluse’s  mind  of  certain 
rays  thrown  across  the  Atlantic  from  Abbotsford.”  P'or  further 
particulars  the  reader  is  referred  to  A Study  of  Hawthorne,  by 
G.  P.  Lathrop,  Boston,  187G. 


54 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFPH.LOW. 


tlireadbiire  black,  would  designate  the  liighest  class, 
who  were  understood  to  liave  acquired  nearly  all  the 
science  their  Alma  Mater  could  bestow,  and  to  be  on 
the  point  of  assuming  their  stations  in  the  world. 
There  were,  it  is  true,  exceptions  to  this  general 
description.*  A few  young  men  had  found  their  way 
hither  from  the  distant  seaports ; and  these  were  the 
models  of  fashion  to  their  rustic  companions,  over 
wliom  they  asserted  a superiority  in  exterior  accom- 
plishments, which  the  fresh,  though  unpolished,  intel- 
lect of  the  sons  of  the  forest  denied  them  in  their 
literary  competitions.  A third  class,  differing  widely 
from  both  the  former,  consisted  of  a few  young  de- 
scendants of  the  aborigines,  to  whom  an  impracticable 
philanthropy  was  endeavoring  to  impart  the  benefits 
of  civilization. 

“If  this  institution  did  not  offer  all  the  advan- 
tages of  elder  and  prouder  seminaries,  its  deficien- 
cies were  compensated  to  its  students  by  the  incul- 
cation of  regular  habits,  and  of  a deep  and  awful 
sense  of  religion,  which  seldom  deserted  them  in 
their  course  through  life.  The  mild  and  gentle  rule 
was  more  destructive  to  vice  than  a sterner  sway ; 
and,  though  youth  is  never  without  its  follies,  they 
have  seldom  been  more  harmless  than  they  were 
here.  The  students,  indeed,  ignorant  of  their  own 
bliss,  sometimes  wished  to  hasten  the  time  of  their 
entrance  on  the  business  of  life ; but  the}^  found,  in 
after-years,  that  many  of  their  happiest  remem- 
brances, many  of  the  scenes  which  they  would  with 
least  reluctance  live  over  again,  referred  to  the  seat 
of  their  early  studies.” 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


55 


It  is  noted  by  his  biographer,  that,  in  the  passages 
above  quoted,  Hawthorne  “ divides  the  honors  pleas- 
antly between  the  forest-bred  and  city-trained  youth, 
having,  from  his  own  experience,  an  interest  in  each 
class ; yet  I think  he  must  have  sided,  in  fact,  with 
the  country  boys.”  ^ 

The  father  and  great-grandfather  of  the  poet  were 
graduates  of  Harvard  College.  It  may  seem  a little 
singular,  that,  with  this  precedent,  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow  should  have  been  sent  to  Bowdoin  Col- 
lege. At  the  beginning  of  the  century  the  college 
at  Brunswick  was  scarcely  known,  except  to  its 
incorporators;  and  it  was  not  until  1802  that  the 
first  class  was  admitted.  The  first  graduating  class 
numbered  seven:  and  among  the  students  of  this 
period  were  Charles  S.  Davies,  subsequently  an  emi- 
nent lawyer;  and  Nathan  Lord,  for  many  }^ears  pres- 
ident of  Dartmouth  College.^ 

In  1819  the  second  president  of  Bowdoin  died ; 
and  the  Rev.  William  Allen,  a graduate  of  Har- 
vard, and  at  the  time  president  of  Dartmouth, 
was  chosen  as  his  successor.  In  many  respects  his 
administration  was  a memorable  one,  and  “into  his 
retirement  he  carried  the  respect  and  esteem  which 
are  the  desert  of  sincere  and  laborious  service.  His 
term  of  service  was  highly  fruitful.”  Dr.  Shepley 
says  of  him,  that  he  “ performed  well  the  duties  of  his 
station.  He  may  have  been  a little  too  unbending, 
have  passed  a student  without  recognition,  or  unde- 


1 A Study  of  Hawthorne,  p.  110. 

2 See  an  interesting  article  on  Bowdoin  College,  in  Scribner’s 
Monthly  for  May,  1870,  written  by  Mr.  G.  T.  Packard. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


f)G 

sirably  mistaken  a name  or  person.  His  hymn-book 
was  one  of  those  mistakes  of  which  no  good  account 
can  be  given.  He  was  nevertheless  a scholar,  a gen- 
tleman, a friend  of  the  students,  an  able  preacher,  and 
an  efficient  helper  of  ministers  and  churches.  The 
incidents  of  his  administration,  both  at  Bowdoin  and 
previously  at  Dartmouth,  were  full  of  interest ; in- 
volving, as  they  did,  the  investigation  of  great  ques- 
tions, calling  into  service  the  best  legal  talent  in 
the  country,  and  issuing  in  judicial  decisions  impor- 
tant to  all  educational  and  charitable  corporations.”  ^ 

Associated  with  him  in  the  several  departments 
were  John  Abbott,  A.M.,  a graduate  of  Harvard,  the 
professor  of  languages ; Parker  Cleaveland,  “ in 
ability  and  brilliancy  not  excelled  by  any  college 
officer  of  his  time,”  who  filled  the  chair  of  mathe- 
matics and  natural  philosophy ; the  Rev.  William 
Jenks,  the  professor  of  the  Oriental  and  English 
languages ; and  Samuel  P.  Newman,  whose  depart- 
ment was  that  of  Greek  and  Latin  until  1824,  when 
he  was  succeeded  in  the  same  department  by  Al- 
pheus  S.  Packard,  who  since  1819  had  been  a tutor 
ill  the  institution.  Professor  Packard  — still  living  — 
has  been  a member  of  the  faculty  since  the  last-men- 
tioned date,  — sixty-three  years.  Addressed  to  his 
old  teacher  were  certain  lines  in  Longfellow’s 
“ Morituri  Salutamus,”  a poem  prepared  for  the 
semi-centennial  of  his  class,  and  recited  by  him  in 

1 I quote  from  a valuable  paper  on  the  class  of  ’25  in  Bowdoin 
College,  read  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  David  Shepley  of  Providence,  R.I., 
at  a meeting  of  Congregational  ministers  in  October,  1875.  Dr. 
Shepley  was  a classmate  of  Longfellow  at  Bowdoin  College.  His 
death  occurred  in  Noveml)er,  1881. 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


57 


1875.  After  speaking  of  the  teachers  who  had  led 
their  “ bewildered  feet  through  learning’s  maze,”  the 
poet  continues,  — 

“ They  are  no  longer  here:  they  all  are  gone 
Into  the  land  of  shadows,  — all  save  one. 

Honor  and  reverence,  and  the  good  repute 
That  follows  faithful  service  as  its  fruit, 

Be  unto  him,  whom  living  we  salute.” 

By  far  the  most  noted,  if  not  the  most  beloved, 
of  all  the  Bowdoin  professors,  was  Parker  Cleave- 
land,  who,  after  fifty-three  years  of  faithful  work,  was 
stricken  down  at  his  post  in  1858.  In  the  sphere 
of  his  teaching  and  oversight  he  was  truly  the  “gen- 
ius of  the  place ; ” while  distinguished  honors  from 
home  and  abroad  testified  to  the  important  work 
of  “ the  Father  of  American  Mineralogy,”  as  he  was 
often  termed.  It  is  related  that  “an  accident  di- 
rected Professor  Cleaveland’s  special  attention  to  the 
study  of  mineralogy.  Some  laborers,  in  blasting 
near  the  river,  upturned  what  looked  like  gold  and 
precious  stones,  and  hurried  to  the  professor’s  room 
with  their  treasure.  To  their  anxious  inquiry  he 
returned  a diplomatic  res[)onse,  being  in  doubt  as  to 
the  qualit}^  of  the  specimens,  and  subsequently  for- 
warded the  minerals  to  Professor  Dexter  of  Harvard 
University,  who  confirmed  Professor  Cleaveland’s 
analysis,  and,  in  return,  sent  to  Bowdoin  selections 
from  his  own  cabinet.  At  a felicitous  moment.  Pro- 
fessor Cleaveland  printed  a work  on  mineralogy, 
which  was  warmly  praised  by  leading  scientists  in  this 
country  and  in  Europe.  Humboldt,  Sir  David  Brew- 


58 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


ster.  Sir  Humphry  Davy,  Baron  Cuvier,  the  Abbe 
Haiiy,  and  many  others,  welcomed  him  to  the  frater- 
nity of  investigators  ; and  invitations  to  teach  in  the 
leading  colleges  of  the  country  showed  the  home  ap- 
preciation of  his  remarkable  abilities.  Nor  did  the 
professor  pass  by  the  science  of  chemistry:  in  that 
department,  likewise,  he  was  a proficient.  Besides 
the  regular  lectures  in  college,  he  gave  courses  of 
popular  addresses,  fully  illustrated,  in  the  towns 
of  the  State.  A slight  drawback  to  these  scientific 
excursions  deserves  to  be  recorded.  The  professor’s 
apparatus  was  moved  from  town  to  town  by  a yoke 
of  oxen.  His  appearances,  therefore,  were  few  and 
far  between ; and  these  visits  of  enlightenment  were 
finally  abandoned.” 

It  is  of  this  “ grand  old  teacher  ” that  Longfellow 
speaks  in  a sonnet  written  during  his  visit  to  Bruns- 
wick in  the  summer  of  1875:  — 


‘ Among  the  many  lives  that  I have  known, 

None  I remember  more  serene  and  sweet, 

More  rounded  in  itself  and  more  complete. 

Than  his  who  lies  beneath  this  funeral  stone. 

These  pines,  that  murmur  in  low  monotone. 

These  walks  frequented  by  scholastic  feet. 

Were  all  his  world;  but  in  this  calm  retreat 
For  him  the  teacher’s  chair  became  a throne. 

With  fond  affection  memory  loves  to  dwell 
On  the  old  days,  when  liis  example  made 
A pastime  of  the  toil  of  tongue  and  pen  ; 

And  now,  amid  the  gi’oves  he  loved  so  well 

That  naught  could  lure  liim  from  their  grateful  shade. 

He  sleeps,  but  wakes  elsewhere,  for  God  hath  said, 
‘ Amen  ! ’ ” 


PROFESSOR  CLEAVELAND  ON  THE  LECTURE-PATH. 


60 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Witli  such  men  as  teachers,  — all  of  them  well 
equipped,  and  iii  love  with  their  work,  — it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at  that  the  attractions  of  Bowdoin  Col- 
lege were  such  as  to  induce  so  many  of  the  best 
faniilies  in  tlie  State, of  Maine  to  send  their  sons 
thither.  To  be  sure,  the  college  at  Brunswick  was 
young  and  poor,  and  not  widely  known : but  it  had 
a great  and  grand  future  before  it,  and  the  day  was 
soon  to  dawn  when  it  should  send  forth  graduates 
whose  fame  would  reach  round  the  civilized  world. 
Its  growth  was  rapid,  but  at  the  same  time  health- 
ful. In  1802  the  college  embraced  but  one  building, 
in  which,  for  a time,  all  the  officers  and  students  were 
sheltered,  and  the  chapel  and  recitation-rooms  were 
located.  Five  or  six  years  later  Maine  Hall  was 
erected,  and  the  process  of  augmentation  and  in- 
orease  went  steadily  on ; so  that,  at  about  the  close 
of  the  first  quarter  of  the  present  century,  the  insti- 
tution presented  an  outward  view  in  every  way 
Tespectable. 

It  was  in  September,  1821,  that  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow,  together  with  his  elder  brother  Stephen, 
entered  the  freshman  class  in  Bowdoin  College.  The 
former  was  just  in  the  last  half  of  his  fifteenth  year, 
and  at  this  time  was,  as  remembered  by  one  of  his 
teachers,  “an  attractive  youth,  with  auburn  locks, 
clear,  fresh,  blooming  complexion,  and,  as  might  be 
presumed,  of  well-bred  manners  and  bearing.’’  ^ 

And  one  of  his  classmates  thus  writes : “ I remem- 
ber him  (Longfellow)  distinctly  as  of  fresh,  youthful 
appearance,  as  uniformly  regular  and  studious  in 

i Professor  A.  S.  Packard,  still  living  in  Brunswick,  Me. 


» 


62 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


liis  luibits,  mtlier  disinclined  to  general  intercourse, 
nuiintaining  a high  rank  as  a sclfolar,  and  distin- 
gnished  especially  for  the  excellence  of  his  composi- 
tions, as  was  Hawthorne  also.  Such  was  his  temper- 
ament that  it  appeared  easy  for  him  to  avoid  the 
unworthy.’'  ^ 

Still  another  says,  “ When  I first  became  ac- 
quainted with  Longfellow,  just  after  we  had  been 
dismissed  from  a recitation  in  Greek,  I thought  him 
very  unsocial ; but  further  acquaintance  showed  to 
me  that  what  I had  mistaken  for  indifference,  and  an 
unwillingness  to  form  new  friendships,  was  merely  a 
natural  modesty.  I' soon  found  him  to  be  one  of  the 
truest  of  friends.”  ^ 

One  who  was  not  intimate  with  him  in  college, 
but  was  yet  a member  of  the  same  class,  informs 
us,  that,  “in  his  recitations,  he  was  rather  slow  of 
speech,  and  appeared  absorbed,  but  was  almost  al- 
ways correct,  if  not  ahuays.  He  stood  high.  I should 
judge  he  must  have  been  amiable  in  his  social  in- 
tercourse, never  aggressive,  but  well  calculated  to 
secure  friends.”  ^ 

At  the  time  when  Longfellow  entered  Bowdoin 
College,  the  class  numbered  forty-four  members ; and 
most  of  these  were  born  and  reared  in’  the  State  of 
Maine.  The  average  age  was  from' fifteen  to  sixteen, 
though  some  of  the  students  had  already  attained 
their  twenty-fourth  birthday.  While  a few  had  been 
prepared  for  the  collegiate  course  by  private  instruct- 

1 Charles  Jeffrey  Abbott,  Esq.,  of  Castine,  Me. 

2 Horatio  Bridge,  Es(].,  of  Washington,  D.C. 

3 Professor  Nathaniel  Dunn  of  New-York  City. 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


63 


ors,  by  far  the  majority  came  from  well-recognized 
and  Avell-known  schools  of  a preparatory  order.  It  is 
remembered,  that  at  least  one  came  from  Phillips 
Academy  at  Andover,  and  quite  a number  from 
Phillips  Academy  at  Exeter.  More  than  half  had 
been  previously  taught  by  Mr.  Cushman  at  the  Port- 
land Academy ; and  the  remainder  had  emanated 
from  scliools  at  Gorham,  Saco,  Hallowell,  Augusta, 
and  Monmouth. 

The  fitting  given  at  Andover  and  Exeter,”  says 
one  of  the  members  of  the  class  of  1825,  “ was  ex- 
cellent. The  noble,  hard-working,  youth-loving  men 
at  other  locations  named  (I  love  to  praise  them), 
knew  well  that  their  pupils  needed  more  than  they 
had  time  or  means  to  do  for  them.  For  what  they 
did,  they  deserved  admiration  ; for  what  they  did  not 
do,  they  were  not  themselves  accountable.  They 
were  ready  to  impart  their  own  clothing  to  a needy 
student.  They  cared  for  their  pupils  while  with 
them,  and  after  they  had  gone,  as  if  they  liad  been 
their  own  sons.”  ^ 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  the  days  of  youtli 
are  the  happiest  in  human  life ; and  equally  true  is 
it,  that  the  years  spent  in  college  are  the  most  memo- 
rable. The  attachments  formed  during  our  student- 
career  are  never  forgotten : other  and  later  friends 
may  come  to  us,  time  and  space  may  intervene ; but 
tliose  who  together  witli  us  endeavored  to  climb 
higli  up  the  ladder  of  learning  forever  linger  in  our 
memories,  — their  names  and  their  faces  are  with  us 
always.  Those  who  were  students  a half-century 

1 Rev.  Dr.  Sliepley. 


64 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


ago  will  more  readily  understand  this  assertion,  per- 
haps, than  those  who  are  but  recent  graduates.  In 
the  earlier  time,  our  colleges  were  fewer,  and  perhaps 
poorer,  and  the  classes  were  never  large ; to-day,  col- 
leges are  many,  the  endowments  are  liberal,  and  in 
many  cases  the  classes  number  many  members.  For- 
merly a student  could  know  and  associate  with  all 
of  his  fellow-students ; now  it  frequently  happens 
that  no  student  is  acquainted  with  more  than  half 
the  members  of  his  class,  while  perhaps  he  has  never 
been  intimate  with  more  than  a limited  few.  It  is 
not  difficult  to  find  the  reason  for  the  last-named 
circumstance. 

In  the  da}^s  of  which  I write,  much  interest  was 
felt  in  the  progress  and  growth  of  the  college  at 
Brunswick,  especially  so  by  “the  best  citizens  of 
Maine,  who  talked  of  it,  planned  for  it,  and  were  oft 
seen  in  its  halls.”  To  be  sure,  it  was  neither  the 
oldest,  nor  indeed  the  best,  collegiate  institution  in 
America ; and,  because  of  its  moderate  means,  the 
college  could  not  afford  the  services  of  a large  corps 
of  instructors.  But,  with  perhaps  a single  excep- 
tion, such  teachers  as  held  positions  at  Bowdoin  were 
men  of  unqualified  worth,  and  most  excellent  ability. 
They  were  not  afraid  of  work,  and  they  were  devoted 
to  all  who  came  under  their  charge.  If  they  had  a 
fault,  it  was  that  of  bestoAving  too  much  time,  and 
too  varied  service,  for  too  little  money.  But  their 
records  live  after  them  I 

And  now  let  us  glance  hastily  at  some  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Bowdoin  class  of  1825.  A more  remark- 
able class  never  gathered  under  an  American  college 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


65 


roof-tree.  “ When  we  think,”  says  the  venerable 
Professor  Packard,  writing  in  the  present  year,  of 
the  distinction  that  has  crowned  the  class  of  1825, 
a teacher  may  be  charged  with  singular  lack  of  dis- 
crimination and  interest  in  his  pupils,  who  is  com- 
pelled to  confess  how  scanty  are  his  particular  remi- 
niscences of  its  members ; and  this  for  the  plain 
reason,  that  no  one  knew,  or  even  dreamed  it  may  be, 
how  famous  some  of  them  were  to  become.  I think 
it  is  a tradition  that  Luther  — if  not  he,  some  re- 
nowned German  teacher  — used  to  doff  his  hat  rev- 
erently when  he  entered  his  schoolroom.  On  being 
asked  why  he  did  so,  ‘ Because,*  said  he,  ‘ I see  in 
my  pupils  future  burgomasters  and  syndics  of  the 
city.’  . . . Were  we  blind,  and  dull  of  appreciation, 
that  we  did  not  forecast,  during  those  four  years,  two 
lives  — one  in  the  front  seat  of  the  class-room,  and 
one  in  the  third  seat  back  — which  were  to  have 
names  in  the  prose  and  poetry  of  the  ages,  lasting 
as  the  language  in  which  their  genius  found  expres- 
sion ? ” 

Nor  indeed  is  it  surprising  that  future  greatness 
was  not  forecasted  in  a single  instance.  It  may  have 
been  said,  at  the  time,  that  they  who  attained  the 
highest  rank  in  college  were  the  men  to  be  heard  of 
again  in  after-life.  But  it  is  interesting  to  examine 
farther  the  assertion.  “Little  always  held  the  first 
place.  Four,  well  entitled  to  do  it,  came  next.  About 
seven,  now  in  order,  were  perhaps  in  merit  not  very 
unequal,  and,  with  the  usages  of  the  present  day, 
might  not  have  been  distinguished  from  each  otlier. 
The  same  may  have  been  substantially  true  of  each 


(36 


JIKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGRELLOW. 


of  two  companies  of  seven  that  followed  ; and  I must 
not  fail  to  say,  that,  of  those  who  took  no  part  in  the 
exercises  of  commencement,  several  had  been  dis- 
closed as  more  than  ordinary  men.”  ^ 

As  is  often  the  case,  several  members  of  the  class 
might  easily  have  reached  a higher  rank  if  they  had 
been  more  thoroughly  prepared,  or  had  been  more 
mature  , or  others,  if  they  had  studied  more  diligently. 
Some  were  scarcely  distinguished  at  all  during  their 
college-days,  though  it  was  not  because  they  did  not 
wish  to  be ; and  of  these  quite  a number  achieved 
renown  in  subsequent  life. 

It  is  never  fair  to  judge  any  class  by  the  standard 
of  its  freshman  year ; for  not  yet  have  the  students 
become  fully  impressed  with  that  sense  of  duty  to 
themselves  and  justice  to  others  which  maturer  ex- 
perience in  college  almost  always  affords.  The  Self- 
consciousness  of  the  yearling,  it  matters  not  where 
he  may  be  found,  is  strongly  marked,  and  only  proves 
him  to  be  as  yet  little  more  than  a boy.  During  his 
second  and  third  years,  he  begins  to  realize  what  he 
is  doing,  and  for  what,  and  to  cast  his  e}*es  outside 
of  the  college  precincts,  and  to  reflect  on  what  may 
possibly  await  him  there  in  “the  years  yet  to  come.” 
It  was  during  the  sophomore  year  that  signs  of 
future  greatness  began  to  manifest  themselves.  The 
college  societies,  or  clubs,  afforded  ample  opportuni- 
ties for  the  display  of  talent : and  it  appeared  then 
that  Bradbury,  Gilley,  Benson,  and  Little  were  to 
be  among  the  statesmen  of  the  future  , that  Dean 
was  the  metaphysician  : Weld  and  Mason,  the  nat- 

I Rev.  Dr,  Sliepley. 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


67 


uralists ; and  Cheever  and  Pierce,  after  Longfellow 
and  Hawthorne,  the  “ experts  in  belles-lettres y The 
future  poet  was  Mellen,  not  Longfellow  who  at  this 
time  had  tlie  credit  of  “writing  verses  only  as  a pas- 
time.*’ Poor  Dean  died  just  before  graduation  day, 
thus  rendering  sorrowful  what  must  otherwise  have 
been  a most  joyous  event. 

Of  those  who  foreshadowed  prominence  in  later 
life,  I must  mention  Josiah  L.  Little,  who  came  to 
Bowdoin  from  Exeter,  thoroughly  trained,  strong  in 
body,  and  keen  in  intellect : at  recitations  he  was 
always  “ prepared."  His  death  occurred  in  1862, 
but  not  until  he  had  honorably  filled  many  impor- 
tant civil  and  political  stations. 

Jonathan  Gilley  was  a “chum"  of  Little  at  Exe- 
ter, and  was  equally  well  fitted.  The  record  of  his 
life  is  tinged  with  sadness.  In  his  youth  he  pos- 
sessed “ unquestionable  genius ; and  had  he  not  in- 
dulged in  habits,  not  vicious,  but  still  expensive  of 
time,  into  which  he  was  drawn  by  his  fine  social 
qualities,  instead  of  about  the  ninth  place,  he  might 
easily  have  taken  the  second,  possibly  the  first." 
Gilley  graduated  with  his  class,  and  immediately 
began  the  study  of  the  law.  He  rose  rapidly  in  the 
estimation  of  the  public,  was  sent  to  Gongress,  and 
there  gained  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  readi- 
est debaters.  In  one  of  his  congressional  speeches, 
he  offended  the  editor  of  “ The  New- York  Gourier 
and  Exchange,"  and  was  challenged  to  fight  a duel. 
Gilley  declined  on  the  ground  that  the  challenger 
was  not  a gentleman:  whereupon  Mr.  Graves,  a 
member  of  Gongress  from  Kentucky,  took  the  dial- 


68 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


lenger's  place : and  to  this  arrangement  Mr.  Gilley 
assented.  On  a bleak  day  the  duel  was  fought 
with  rifles;  and  Gilley,  like  Hamilton  before  him, 
fell  dead,  leaving  his  adversary  unharmed.  Mrs. 
Gilley  ‘‘could  not  survive  the  shock,  and  three 
young  children  were  left  in  the  world  without  father 
or  mother.” 

George  B.  Gheever  was  another  one  of  the  coterie 
in  which  }mung  Longfellow  moved,  and  found  the 
joys  of  friendship.  Gheever,  from  early  childhood, 
had  studied  Edmund  Burke;  though  he  was  also  said 
to  lay  “ hold  on  all  books  within  his  reach.”  The 
librarian  of  the  college  once  remarked,  “ It  is  fifty 
dollars  damage  to  the  library  every  time  a theme  is 
assigned  to  Gheever.  He  searches  every  book  on 
every  shelf.”  The  diligent,  careful,  and  conscien- 
tious student  still  lives  to  enjoy  the  reputation  of  an 
able  preacher,  author,  and  champion  of  temperance. 
It  certainly  is  much  to  his  credit  that  he  was  long 
spoken  of  as  “ the  Gideon  of  the  anti-slavery  cam- 
paign.” 

In  the  same  class  was  John  S.  G.  Abbott,  the  his- 
torian ; J.  W.  Bradbury,  eminent  in  law  and  politics  ; 
and  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  the  genius  of  American 
romance.  A classmate  writes  of  Hawthorne,  that 
“ he  utterly  neglected  many  of  the  studies  of  the 
regular  course  ; and,  as  he  would  not  study,  he  could 
not  at  recitations  show  the  fruit  of  his  study.  Fail- 
ure in  the  classroom,  however,  did  not  disturb  him; 
nor  did  it  materially  detract  from  the  respect  in 
which  he  was  held,  both  by  professor  and  classmates. 
It  was  soon  found  that  he  was  not  to  be  judged  or 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


69 


dealt  with  by  ordinary  standards ; that  he  had  read 
much ; that  his  mind  was  enriched  by  its  own  crea- 
tions ; that  he  was,  in  a sense,  already  an  accom- 
plished scholar.  In  the  social  circle  his  was  apt  to  be 
a silent  presence ; but  it  was  a presence  ever  eagerly 
sought,  and,  somehow,  marvellously  magnetic.  He 
never  seemed  to  think  of  asking  himself  how  he  com- 
pared with  his  fellows.  In  their  thoughts  he  was 
always  above  and  never  beneath.  He  was  near, 
yet  distant ; had  intimacies,  but  intimates  knew  only 
in  part.  In  subsequent  life,  in  reference  to  a certain 
localit}"  in  England,  he  writes,  ‘ Here  a man  does 
not  seem  to  consider  what  other  people  will  think 
of  his  conduct,  but  only  whether  it  suits  his  own 
convenience  to  do  so  and  so.’  And  he  adds,  ‘ This 
may  be  the  better  way.’  When  he  was  in  college,  he 
may  have  seemed  to  be  of  the  mind  here  indicated ; 
only  it  never  suited  his  convenience  to  do  any  thing 
with  which  his  associates  were  not  obstinately  bent 
on  being  pleased.  He  had  no  liking  for  any  of  the 
professions,  and,  it  is  probable,  left  college  without 
any  definite  plans  for  life.”  ^ 

Such  was  Hawthorne,  — confessedly  the  laggard 
member  of  the  class  of  1825,  and  yet  withal  one  of 
the  most  prominent  in  making  that  class  famous. 
In  college  he  was  the  friend,  though  never  the  inti- 
mate, of  Longfellow.  In  after-life  the  relation  be- 
came intimate,  and  continued  so  to  the  last.  ^ 

1 Rev.  Dr.  Sliepley. 

2 Amoii"  the  stiulents  at  Bowdoin  during  the  course  of  Long- 
fellow and  his  elassinates  may  he  mentioned  : William  Pitt  Fes- 
senden of  the  class  of  ’‘i.'l,  successively  a member  of  the  Maine 
Legislature,  a member  of  Congress,  United-States  senator.  Secretary 


70 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Longfellow,  in  college,  was  not  unlike  many  others 
in  his  class.  From  the  beginning  to  the  close  of 
those  halcyon  days,  his  career  was  singularly  un- 
eventful. When  he  entered  upon  his  junior  }'ear,  his 
old  schoolmate  at  the  Portland  Academy  (John 
Owen)  entered  the  class  of  1827  , and  it  is  his  testi- 
mony, that  while  the  excursions  which  the}^  together 
made  back  into  the  country  were  as  frequent  as 
those,  which,  in  former  times,  they  had  made  to 
Deering’s  Woods,  never  was  Longfellow  guilty  of 
any  lawless  escapades,  or  even  of  those  Avild,  hilari- 
ous sports  which  were  by  no  means  uncommon 
among  his  fellows. 

‘‘  I shall  never  forget,”  says  Mr.  Owen,  whose 
recollections  are  among  the  most  valuable  that  Ave 
Lave,  whether  bearing  upon  the  earlier  or  later  life 
of  the  poet,  — “I  shall  never  forget  one  of  the  visits 
which  I paid  to  my  old  school-friend  just  after  the 

•of  the  Treasury  in  President  Lincoln’s  administration,  and  again 
United-States  senator;  John  P.  Hale  of  the  class  of  ’27,  a member 
of  the  State  Legislature  of  New  Hampshire,  district-attorney  for 
that  State  under  Presidents  Jackson  and  Van  Buren,  member  of 
Congress,  member  of  the  Legislature,  and  Speaker  of  the  House  of 
Representatives,  United-States  senator,  in  1852  the  Free-Soil  candi- 
date for  Vice-President  of  the  United  States,  and  United-States 
minister  to  Spain  under  President  Lincoln;  Franklin  Pierce  of  the 
class  of  ’24,  member  of  the  New-Hampshire  Legislature,  and  Speak- 
er, member  of  Congress,  United-States  senator,  a brigadier-general 
during  the  Mexican  War,  and  elected  President  of  the  United 
States  in  1852;  Sergeant  Smith  Prentiss  of  the  class  of  ’26,  the 
lawyer  and  orator,  member  of  the  Mississippi  Legislature,  member 
of  Congress,  and  distinguished  by  his  eloquence,  and  for  his  love  and 
knowledge  of  literature  ; and  Calvin  E.  Stowe  of  the  class  of  ’24. 
professor  of  languages  in  Dartmouth,  of  biblical  literature  in  Lane 
Seminary,  Cincinnati,  divinity  professor  in  Bowdoin,  and  professor 
of  sacred  literature  in  Andover  Theological  Seminary,  a well-known 
author  and  educator,  and  husband  of  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


71 


opening  of  my  sophomore  year.  It  was  in  the  month 
of  October,  and  on  a sabbath  evening.  After  some 
hours  spent  over  my  books,  I called  at  his  room  late 
in  the  evening.  I found  him  in  an  old  arm-chair, 
with  a copy  of  Shakspeare  — an  English  copy,  if  I 
remember  rightly  — lying  on  his  lap,  and  over  that 
a sheet  of  paper,  on  Avhich  he  had  been  writing,  in  a 
clear,  legible,  and  neat  hand,  which  he  has  always 
preserved,  some  inspiration  of  the  moment.  The 
object  of  my  visit  was  twofold : first,  to  obtain 
some  information  with  regard  to  one  of  the  instruct- 
ors ; and  secondly,  to  renew  our  friendship.  He  re- 
ceived me  most  cordially,  and  at  once  told  me  he 
was  jotting  down  some  verses.  We  went  over  again, 
in  pleasant  talk,  the  experience  of  the  ballad  on 
‘ Lovewell's  Fight ; ’ and  I suggested  that  perhaps 
poesy  was  not  his  forte. 

“ ‘ Let  me  read  you  something,’  he  remarked,  with- 
out directly  responding  to  my  playful  jest.  And  he 
began  with  the  lines,  — 

“ ‘ When  first  in  ancient  time,  from  Jubal’s  tongue 
The  tuneful  anthem  filled  the  morning  air, 

To  sacred  liymnings  and  elysian  song 
Ilis  music-breathing  shell  the  minstrel  woke. 

Devotion  breathed  aloud  from  every  chord  : 

The  voice  of  praise  was  heard  in  every  tone. 

And  prayer  and  thanks  to  him,  the  Eternal  One, 

To  Him,  that  with  bright  insi)iration  touched 
The  high  and  gifted  lyre  of  heavenly  song. 

And  warmed  the  soul  with  new  vitality.’ 

“ ‘You  see,  I have  a cold,’  he  added,  ‘and  could 
not  go  to  devotional  exercises.  But  I must  do  some- 
thing in  keeping  with  the  day.’ 


72 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


“ I replied  that  I was  but  a poor  judge  of  the  quality 
of  verse,  and  that,  if  he  called  what  he  had  read  to 
me  poetry,  I would  assume  that  it  was.  But  I could 
not  refrain  from  adding,  that  it  was  much  too  grand 
to  be  popular.  He  read  me  more  of  the  poem,  and 
then  laid  it  aside  unfinished.  Towards  the  Christ- 
mas holidays  he  showed  me  the  poem,  completed, 
published  in  one  of  the  periodicals  of  the  time. 
He  had  sent  it  to  the  editor  of  The  United-States 
Literary  Gazette,’  and,  in  return,  had  been  credited 
with  a year's  subscription.” 

The  same  qualities  of  mind  and  person  which 
so  strongly  characterized  the  poet  in  his  later  life, 
and  rendered  him  dear  to  whomsoever  he  encoun- 
tered, were  already  formed  in  his  earlier  career.  As 
a youth,  he  was  invariably  social,  affable,  genial,  and 
polite.  Though  he  was  more  fond  of  his  books  than 
of  pastimes,  and  treasured  time  for  what  it  could 
afford  him  for  study,  yet  he  was  never  so  fully  occu- 
pied with  his  own  employments  that  he  could  not 
lend  himself  to  others.  He  was  known  and  recog- 
nized generally  as  one  of  the  “ well-to-do  ” men  in 
college.  Though  never  lavish  with  money,  nor  in 
any  way  inclined  to  that  outward  display  which  the 
possessor  of  money  is  so  often  led  into,  still  he  was 
thought  to  be  well  favored,  and  never  to  be  in  want, 
either  of  the  necessities  or  of  the  luxuries  of  life. 
He  was  never  known  to  refuse  a contribution  for 
any  worthy  object:  no  student  ever  came  to  him  in 
distress  and  went  away  empty  handed. 

The  following  incident  is  related  by  one  of  the 
members  of  the  class  of  1826,  and  corroborated  by 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


73 


Mr.  Owen : One  day  a student  received  notice 
from  home,  that  owing  to  the  death  of  his  father, 
and  the  straitened  condition  of  the  family,  it  was 
not  practicable  for  him  longer  to  continue  his  studies 
at  Bowdoin.  This  was  sad  news  to  the  young  man, 
for  he  cherished  great  hopes  in  regard  to  his  future 
career ; and  already,  by  close  application  to  duty,  he 
was  accounted  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  promising 
of  his  class.  His  friend,  the  narrator  of  the  anec- 
dote, having  been  made  acquainted  with  all  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case,  at  once  took  counsel  Avith 
Longfellow.  Up  to  this  time  — the  spring  of  1825 
— Longfellow  had  contributed  several  poetical  effu- 
sions to  the  columns  of  ‘■'The  United-States  Literary 
Gazette,”  but  had  never  asked  for,  nor  received,  any 
compensation.  From  “Tlie  Gazette  ” the  poems  had 
found  their  way  into  many  of  the  daily  and  weekly 
press  of  the  country ; and  the  young  poet,  not  with- 
out reason,  began  to  think  himself  entitled  to  some 
pecuniary  allowance,  however  small  it  might  be. 
He  wrote  a note  on  the  subject  to  the  editor,  Mr. 
Theophilus  Parsons,^  and  received  in  return  a plea 
of  poverty,  some  well-chosen  words  of  praise  and 
gratitude,  and  — a copy  of  ‘■‘’  Coleridge's  Poems.” 

^ Theophilus  Parsons,  son  of  the  chief  justice  of  the  same  name, 
was  born  at  Newburyport,  Mass.,  May  17,  1797;  graduated  at  Har- 
vard in  1815;  studied  law  in  the  oftice  of  Judge  William  Prescott; 
visited  Europe;  practised  law  first  in  Taunton  and  later  in  Boston; 
was  a frequent  contributor  to  the  pages  of  The  North-American 
Review  and  other  periodicals,  and,  in  1824,  founded  The  United- 
States  Literary  Gazette  ; in  1847  he  became  the  Dane  i)rofessor  of 
law  in  the  Harvard  Law  School.  Mr.  Parsons  wrote  some  fifteen 
volumes  of  legal  treatises,  also  several  works  in  support  of  the 
Sweden borgian,  or  “ New  Jerusalem,”  Church.  His  death  occurred 
only  a few  months  ago. 


74 


HENRY  WADSWORT?T  LONGFELLOW. 


This  was,  indeed,  a disappointment;  for  Longfellow 
had  counted  on  receiving  a few  paltry  dollars,  which 
it  was  his  intention  to  present  to  his  fellow-student 
in  need.  He  was  undaunted,  however,  and  resolved 
to  do  what  he  could.  Himself,  his  brother,  and  the 
narrator  drew  up  a subscription-paper,  put  down  on 
it  such  sums  as  each  could  afford,  and  then  passed 
it  round  among  the  fellows.  The  college-men  re- 
sponded nobly ; and  enough  was  raised  to  carry 
the  luckless,  but  deserving,  object  of  the  gift  safely 
through  his  college-course.  Just  forty-one  years 
from  that  date  the  same  student  called  upon  the 
poet  at  his  home  in  Cambridge,  and  again  thanked 
him  for  that  “kindness,  which  had  proved  a fortune 
to  himself.”  He  added,  that,  having  experienced 
“ how  blessed  it  is  to  receive,”  he  had  just  founded 
a certain  charity,  — on  condition  that  the  name  of 
the  donor  should  never  be  made  public,  — and  hoped 
to  do  even  more  at  some  future  time. 

“ For  some  reason  or  other,”  says  Mr.  Owen,  “the 
poet  never  liked  to  speak  of  this  act  of  his  earlier 
career.  He  and  I have  talked  about  it,  to  be  sure ; 
but  one  day  he  suggested  that  the  subject  be  for- 
ever dropped.  It  was  one  of  his  peculiar  habits,  — 
always  to  be  doing  some  one  a favor,  and  to  wish 
that  it  be  kept  a profound  secret.” 

It  has  previously  been  stated  that  Longfellow  did 
not  begin  full  work  at  college  until  he  had  entered 
upon  his  sophomore  year.  From  September,  1821, 
to  Commencement,  1822,  he  pursued  most  of  his 
studies  at  home,  and  at  the  same  time  managed 
to  keep  up  with  his  class.  In  the  autumn  of  1822 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


75 


he  began  his  studies  at  Brunswick,  and  so  also  did 
one  of  his  classmates,  Hon.  James  W.  Bradbury, 
now  of  Augusta.  Hon.  Mr.  Bradbury  thus  speaks  of 
his  friend,  after  the  lapse  of  sixty  years : — 

“I  first  knew  Longfellow  when  I entered  as  a 
sophomore  in  the  class  of  which  he  was  a member, 
in  1822 ; and  I like  to  think  of  him  as  I then  knew 
him.  His  slight,  erect  figure,  delicate  complexion, 
and  intelligent  expression  of  countenance  come  back 
to  me  indelibly  associated  with  his  name. 

“ He  was  always  a gentleman  in  Ins  deportment, 
and  a model  in  his  character  and  habits.  For  a year 
or  more  we  had  our  rooms  out  of  college,  and  in  the 
same  vicinity ; and  I consequently  saw  much  more  of 
him  than  of  many  others  of  our  class.  I recollect, 
that,  at  our  junior  exhibition,  a discussion  upon  the 
respective  claims  of  the  two  races  of  men  to  this 
continent  was  assigned  to  Longfellow  and  myself. 
He  had  the  character  of  King  Philip,  and  I of  Miles 
Standish.  He  maintained  that  the  continent  was 
given  by  the  Great  Spirit  to  the  Indians,  and  that 
the  English  were  wrongful  intruders.  My  reply,  as 
nearly  as  I can  recall  it,  was,  that  the  aborigines 
were  claiming  more  than  their  equal  share  of  the 
earth,  and  that  the  Great  S})irit  never  intended  that 
so  few  in  number  should  hold  the  whole  continent 
for  hunting-grounds,  and  that  we  had  a right  to  a 
share  of  it,  to  improve  and  cultivate.  Whether  this 
occurrence  had  any  thing  to  do  in  suggesting  the 
subject  for  one  of  his  admirable  poems,  or  not,  one 
thing  is  certain,  that  he  subsequently  made  a great 
deal  more  of  Miles  Standish  than  I did  on  that  occa- 


sion. 


76 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  DONGFELLOW. 


“As  a scliolar,  Longfellow  always  maintained  a 
high  rank  in  a class  that  contained  such  names  as 
Hawthorne,  Little,  Gilley,  Cheever,  Abbott,  and  oth- 
ers. Although  he  was  supposed  to  be  somewhat 
devoted  to  the  Muses,  he  never  came  to  the  recita- 
tion-room unprepared  with  his  lessons.” 

Another  classmate,  the  Rev.  David  Shepley,  D.D., 
of  Providence,  whose  death  preceded  that  of  the  poet 
by  a few  months,  brings  forward  a similar  tribute. 
He  says,  — 

“ Longfellow  was  more  like  his  fellow-students, 
and  more  with  them.  Librarians,  if  not  as  intimate 
with  him  as  with  Cheever,  still  knew  Longfellow. 
He  gave  diligent  heed  to  all  departments  of  study  in 
the  prescribed  course,  and  excelled  in  all ; while  his 
enthusiasm  moved  in  the  direction  it  has  taken  in 
subsequent  life.  His  themes,  felicitous  translations 
of  Horace,  and  occasional  contributions  to  the  press, 
drew  marked  attention  to  him,  and  led  to  the  expec- 
tation that  his  would  be  an  honorable  literary  career ; 
yet  probably  no  one  was  sagacious  enough  to  antici- 
pate the  extent  and  the  depth  of  the  reverential 
affection  of  which  he  has  now  for  years  been  the 
object.  Decided  aversion  to  pretence  and  display 
distinguished  him  when  in  college,  as  it  distinguishes 
him  now.” 

During  Longfellow’s  sojourn  at  Brunswick,  there 
was  a musical  club  in  college ; and  of  this  he  was  a 
prominent  member.  He  was  exceedingly  fond  of 
the  “art  divine,”  and  this  passion  remained  with 
him  through  life  ; and  the  instrument  which  he  pro- 
fessed to  master  was  the  flute.  One  cannot  help 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


77 


feeling  that  such  an  instrument  was  most  appropriate 
to  his  genius,  or  fancying  that  “ the  echoes  of  that 
‘ concord  of  sweet  sounds  ’ have  floated  down  to  us 
blending  with  the  harmonious  measures  of  his  verse.” 
When  he  was  not  engaged  in  study,  or  taking  a part 
in  the  musical  club,  or  off  on  some  rural  excursion, 
he  would  spend  his  time  in  the  exercise  of  his  poetic 
gift.  Some  of  his  sweetest  short  productions  were 
written  and  published  while  he  was  in  college,  as  will 
appear  later  on  in  this  biography. 

A classmate  still  cherishes  a recollection  of  a poem 
which  Longfellow  wrote  on  the  seasons,  and  after 
more  than  half  a century  remembers  the  lines, — 

“ Summer  is  past ; and  autumn,  hoary  sire, 

Leans  on  the  breast  of  winter  to  expire.” 

The  Commencement  programme  of  1825  displays 
the  following  announcement : — 


“Qration:  Native  Writers. 

Henry  t\'adsvvorth  Longfellow, 

Portland.” 

The  subject  that  was  originally  selected  by  the 
young  poet  was  entitled  “The  Life  and  Writings 
of  Chatterton ; ” but,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  he 
changed  his  mind,  and  made  choice  of  the  theme 
on  which  he  discoursed.  In  the  programme,  a copy 
of  wliich  is  still  preserved  in  the  college  library,  the 
original  title  is  erased,  and  “Native  Writers ’’sub- 
stituted in  Professor  Cleaveland's  handwriting. 

The  fact  that  to  Longfellow  was  assigned  one  of 
the  three  English  orations,  indicates  his  standing  as 


78 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGB^ELLOW. 


a scliolar  in  college.  Ilis  was  the  first  claim  to  the 
poem : but,  as  the  poem  had  no  definite  rank,  it  was 
thought  due  to  him,  since  his  scholarship  bore  a high 
mark,  that  he  should  receive  an  appointment  which 
should  place  his  scholarship  beyond  question.  The 
class-poem  was  assigned  to  Frederie  Mellen,  “who 
was  in  reality  more  than  an  ordinary  college-poet.” 
It  should  not  be  forgotten,  however,  that  Longfellow 
had  the  first  claim  as  the  poet  of  the  class;  for  he 
had  not  only  appeared  publicly  as  a writer,  but  in 
November,  1824,  during  the  first  term  of  his  senior 
year,  had  been  chosen  to  pronounce  the  poem  of  the 

Peucinian,  one  of  the  two 
leading  societies  in  the  in- 
stitution. 

One  of  the  last  acts  of  a 
college-man  in  those  days 
was  to  have  his  picture 
“ taken.”  The  art  of  pho- 
tography was  as  yet  undis- 
covered ; but  a “ silhou- 
ette ” artist  was  almost 
always  to  be  found,  and, 
by  his  art  of  handling  pa- 
per and  shears,  the  “ class- 
pictures  ” were  taken. 
When  the  class  was  gradu- 
ated, Hawthorne  alone, 
out  of  the  whole  number, 
refused  to  have  his  profile  cut  in  paper.  But  Long- 
fellow was  more  thoughtful,  though  perhaps  uncon- 
scious, of  the  demands  of  the  future ; and  of  his 


Profile  Portrait  of  Longfellow. 


COLLEGE  DAYS. 


79 


profile  I am  fortunate  in  being  able  to  exhibit  a 
facsimile  reproduction. 

At  the  time  of  his  graduation,  Longfellow  was 
nineteen  years  of  age.  So  full  of  promise  was  his 
future,  that,  shortly  after  his  graduation,  he  was 
chosen  to  fill  the  chair  of  modern  languages  and  lit- 
erature in  the  college,  to  endow  which  IMadame  Bow- 
doin  some  years  before  had  given  one  thousand  dol- 
lars as  a corner-stone.  But  he  was  not  asked  to  take 
the  position  before  he  had  qualified  himself  for  its 
duties. 


80 


HENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW. 

{1824-1826.) 

IN  the  elegant  edition  of  his  poems  illustrated  by 
Huntington  and  published  by  Carey  and  Hart, 
Philadelphia,  in  the  year  1845,  and  in  all  subsequent 
editions,  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  retained  only 
seven  of  his  ‘‘earlier  poems;”  namely,  “An  April 
Day,”  “Autumn,”  “Woods  in  Winter,”  “Hymn  of 
the  Moravian  Nuns  of  Bethlehem,”  “ Sunrise  on  the 
Hills,”  “ The  Spirit  of  Poetry,”  and  “ Burial  of  the 
Minnisink.”  To  this  list,  Kettell,  in  his  specimens 
of  American  poetry,  published  in  1829,  adds  “ The 
Indian  Hunter  ” and  “ The  Sea-Diver.” 

George  B.  Cheever’s  “ American  Common-place 
Book  of  Poetry,”  Boston,  1831,  — a most  excellent 
selection,  — contains  all  the  seven  poems  which  Mr. 
Longfellow  thought  worthy  of  preservation  in  his  col- 
lected works,  and  adds  only  one  other,  “ Earth  with 
her  Thousand  Voices  Praises  God.” 

The  seven  poems  above  mentioned  were  but  a 
small  portion  of  those  written  by  Longfellow  in  the 
period  of  his  youth,  or,  rather,  before  his  graduation 
from  college.  His  earliest  poems,  as  we  have  already 
observed,  were  published  in  one  of  the  Portland 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFEI.LOW. 


81 


newspapers.  As  none  of  these  are  still  preserved, — 
or,  if  existing,  bear  no  signature,  — it  is  impossible 
to  say  what  were  their  titles.  The  poem  on  “ Love- 
well’s  Fight  ” appears  to  have  vanished  entirely ; at 
least,  many  years’  search  has  failed  to  discover  its 
whereabouts. 

During  his  junior  and  senior  years  at  Brunswick, 
Longfellow  exercised  his  poetical  genius  quite  often  ; 
and,  of  the  poems  which  he  produced,  no  less  than 
seventeen  were  published  in  one  of  the  short-lived 
periodicals  of  that  day.  Theophilus  Parsons,  himself 
a poet  of  some  ability,  and  subsequently  eminent  in 
Massachusetts  jurisprudence,  had  essayed  the  public 
taste  with  a hazardous  literary  venture,  “ The’ United- 
States  Literary  Gazette,”  — a quarto  of  sixteen  pages, 
and  furnished  to  its  regular  subscribers  in  fortnightly 
numbers  at  the  exceedingly  low  price  of  five  dollars- 
a year ! “ The  Gazette  ” made  its  first  appearance 

on  the  1st  of  April,  1824 ; and  one  of  the  chief 
attractions  was  William  C.  Bryant,  then  just  coming 
to  his  early  fame,  and  who  had  been  invited  to  fix 
his  own  price  on  such  poems  as  he  might  choose 
to  contribute.  Mr.  Bryant,  after  some  hesitation, 
named  two  dollars  a poem  as  a fair  compensation.  I 
have  previously  stated  that  the  young  collegian  was 
no  better  paid.  But  Bryant  was  not  the  only  poeti- 
cal contributor  to  the  columns  of  “ The  Gazette ; ” 
and  among  the  others  were  Richard  Henry  Dana, 
James  E.  Percival,  Rufus  Dawes,  Grenville  Mellen, 
— the  Bowdoin  class-poet  of  1825,  — J.  Athearn 
Jones,  — nearly  forgotten  now,  but  once  a writer  of 
great  promise  and  of  no  mean  attainment,  — George 
Lunt,  Caleb  Cushing,  and  N.  P.  Willis. 


82 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Longfellow  had  scarcely  completed  his  eighteenth 
year  when  he  ventured  to  send  his  first  poem  to  the 
editor  of  The  Gazette.”  Inasmuch  as  an  exact 
account  of  the  dates  of  the  appearance  of  this  and 
the  succeeding  poems,  together  with  the  full  text  of 
the  poems  themselves,  are  not  without  interest,  I 
have  decided  to  reproduce  them.^ 

The  first  poem  published  in  ‘‘  The  Gazette  ” ap- 
peared in  the  issue  of  Nov.  15,  1824,  and  is  as  fol- 
lows: — 

THANKSGIVING. 

When  first  in  ancient  time,  from  Jubal’s  tongue 
The  tuneful  anthem  filled  the  morning  air, 

To  sacred  hymnings  and  elysian  song 
His  music-breathing  shell  the  minstrel  woke. 

Devotion  breathed  aloud  from  every  chord ; 

The  voice  of  praise  was  heard  in  every  tone. 

And  prayer  and  thanks  to  Him,  the  Eternal  One, 

To  Him,  that  with  bright  inspiration  touched 
The  high  and  gifted  lyre  of  heavenly  song. 

And  warmed  the  soul  with  new  vitality. 

A stirring  energy  through  Nature  breathed : 

The  voice  of  adoration  from  her  broke, 

^Swelling  aloud  in  every  breeze,  and  heard 
Long  in  the  sullen  waterfall,  what  time 
Soft  Spring  or  hoary  Autumn  threw  on  earth 
Its  bloom  or  blighting : when  the  Summer  smiled ; 

Or  AVinter  o’er  the  year’s  sepulchre  mourned. 

The  Deity  was  there  ! a nameless  spirit 
Moved  in  the  breasts  of  men  to  do  him  homage ; 

And  when  the  morning  smiled,  or  evening  pale 
Hung  weeping  o’er  the  melancholy  urn, 

1 All  of  the  seventeen  iioerns  of  Longfellow  which  first  appeared 
in  The  United-States  Literary  Gazette  were,  with  live  others,  re- 
printed in  England  by  Richard  Herne  Shepherd,  and  published  by 
Pickering  & Co.  of  London. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  83 


They  came  beneath  the  broad,  o’erarching  trees, 

And  in  their  tremulous  shadow  worshipped  oft. 
Where  pale  the  vine  clung  round  their  simple  altars. 
And  gray  moss  mantling  hung.  Above  was  heard 
The  melody  of  winds,  breathed  out  as  the  green  trees 
Bowed  to  their  quivering  touch  in  living  beauty ; 

And  birds  sang  forth  their  cheerful  hymns.  Below, 
The  bright  and  widely  wandering  rivulet 
Struggled  and  gushed  amongst  the  tangled  roots 
That  choked  its  reedy  fountain,  and  dark  rocks 
Worn  smooth  by  the  constant  current.  Even  there 
The  listless  wave,  that  stole  with  mellow  voice 
Where  reeds  grew  rank  on  the  rushy-fringed  brink, 
And  the  green  sedge  bent  to  the  wandering  wind. 
Sang  with  a cheerful  song  of  sweet  tranquillity. 

Men  felt  the  heavenly  influence ; and  it  stole 
Like  balm  into  their  hearts,  till  all  was  peace  : 

And  even  the  air  they  breathed,  the  light  they  saw, 

Became  religion  ; for  the  ethereal  spirit 

That  to  soft  music  wakes  the  chords  of  feeling. 

And  mellows  every  thing  to  beauty,  moved 
With  cheering  energy  within  their  breasts. 

And  made  all  holy  there,  for  all  was  love. 

The  morning  stars,  that  sweetly  sang  together ; 

The  moon,  that  hung  at  night  in  the  mid-sky ; 
Dayspring  and  eventide ; and  all  the  fair 
And  beautiful  forms  of  nature,  — had  a voice 
Of  eloquent  worship.  Ocean,  with  its  tides 
Swelling  and  deep,  where  low  the  infant  storm 
Hung  on  his  dun,  dark  cloud,  and  heavily  beat 
The  pulses  of  the  sea,  sent  forth  a voice 
Of  awful  adoration  to  the  spirit 
That,  wrapt  in  darkness,  moved  upon  its  face. 

And  when  the  bow  of  evening  arched  the  east, 

Or,  in  the  moonlight  pale,  the  curling  wave 
Kissed  with  a sweet  embrace  the  sea-worn  beach. 
And  soft  the  song  of  winds  came  o’er  the  waters. 

The  mingled  melody  of  wind  and  wave 


84 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Touched  like  a heavenly  anthem  on  the  ear; 

For  it  arose  a tuneful  hymn  of  worship. 

And  have  our  hearts  grown  cold  ? Are  there  on  earth 
No  pure  reflections  caught  from  heavenly  light? 

Have  our  mute  lips  no  hymn,  our  souls  no  song? 

Let  him  that  in  the  summer  day  of  youth 
Keeps  pure  the  holy  fount  of  youthful  feeling, 

And  him  that  in  the  nightfall  of  his  years 
Lies  down  in  his  last  sleep,  and  shuts  in  peace 
His  dim,  pale  eyes  on  life’s  short  wayfaring. 

Praise  Him  that  rules  the  destiny  of  man. 

Sunday  Evening,  October,  1824. 

In  the  number  dated  Dec.  1,  1824,  appeared  the 
following : — 

AUTUMNAL  NIGHTFALL. 

Round  Autumn’s  mouldering  um 
Loud  mourns  the  chill  and  cheerless  gale, 

When  nightfall  shades  the  quiet  vale, 

And  stars  in  beauty  burn. 

’ Tis  the  year’s  eventide. 

The  wind,  like  one  that  sighs  in  pain 
O’er  joys  that  ne’er  will  bloom  again. 

Mourns  on  the  far  hillside. 

And  yet  my  pensive  eye 
Rests  on  the  faint  blue  mountain  long; 

And  for  the  fairy-land  of  song. 

That  lies  beyond,  1 sigh. 

The  moon  unveils  her  brow : 

In  the  mid-sky  her  urn  glows  bright, 

And  in  her  sad  and  mellowing  light 
The  valley  sleeps  below 

Upon  the  hazel  gray 
The  lyre  of  Autumn  hangs  unstrung. 

And  o’er  its  tremulous  chords  are  flung 
The  fringes  ot  decay. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  85 


T stand  deep  musing  here, 

Beneath  the  dark  and  motionless  beech, 

Whilst  wandering  winds  of  nightfall  reach 
My  melancholy  ear. 

The  air  breathes  chill  and  free : 

A spirit  in  soft  music  calls 

From  Autumn’s  gray  and  moss-grown  halls, 

And  round  her  withered  tree. 

The  hoar  and  mantled  oak. 

With  moss  and  twisted  ivy  brown, 

Bends  in  its  lifeless  beauty  down  * 

Where  weeds  the  fountain  choke. 

That  fountain’s  hollow  voice 
Echoes  the  sound  of  precious  things; 

Of  early  feeling’s  tuneful  springs 

Choked  with  our  blighted  joys. 

Leaves  that  the  night-wind  bears 
To  earth’s  cold  bosom  with  a sigh. 

Are  types  of  our  mortality. 

And  of  our  fading  years. 

The  tree  that  shades  the  plain. 

Wasting  and  hoar  as  time  decays. 

Spring  shall  renew  with  cheerful  days,  — 

But  not  my  joys  again. 

In  the  issue  of  Dec.  15,  1824,  appeared  the  follow- 
ing:— 

ITALIAN  SCENERY. 

Night  rests  in  beauty  on  IMont  Alto. 

Beneath  its  shade  the  beauteous  Arno  sleeps 
In  Vallombrosa’s  bosoni,  and  dark  trees 
Bend  with  a calm  and  quiet  shadow  down 


S6 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Upon  the  beauty  of  that  silent  river. 

Still  in  the  west  a melancholy  smile 
Mantles  the  lips  of  day,  and  twilight  pale 
Moves  like  a spectre  in  the  dusky  sky, 

While  eve’s  sweet  star  on  the  fast-fading  year 
Smiles  calmly.  Music  steals  at  intervals 
Across  the  water,  with  a tremulous  swell, 

From  out  the  upland  dingle  of  tall  firs ; 

And  a faint  footfall  sounds,  where,  dim  and  dark, 
Hangs  the  gray  willow  from  the  river’s  brink, 
O’ershadowing  its  current.  Slowly  there 
The  lover’s  gondola  drops  down  the  stream. 

Silent,  save  when  its  dipping  oar  is  heard, 

Or  in  its  eddy  sighs  the  rippling  wave. 

Mouldering  and  moss-grown  through  the  lapse  of  years. 
In  motionless  beauty  stands  the  giant  oak ; 

Whilst  those  that  saw  its  green  and  flourishing  youth 
Are  gone  and  are  forgotten.  Soft  the  fount. 

Whose  secret  springs  the  starlight  pale  discloses. 
Gushes  in  hollow  music;  and  beyond 
The  broader  river  sweeps  its  silent  way. 

Mingling  a silver  current  with  that  sea. 

Whose  waters  have  no  tides,  coming  nor  going. 

On  noiseless  wing  along  that  fair  blue  sea 
The  halcyon  flits;  and,  where  the  wearied  storm 
Left  a loud  moaning,  all  is  peace  again. 

A calm  is  on  the  deep.  The  winds  that  came 
O’er  the  dark  sea-surge  with  a tremulous  breathing. 
And  mourned  on  the  dark  cliff  where  weeds  grew  rank. 
And  to  the  autumnal  death-dirge  the  deep  sea 
Heaved  its  long  billows,  with  a cheerless  song 
Have  passed  away  to  the  cold  earth  again. 

Like  a wayfaring  mourner.  Silently 
Up  from  the  calm  sea’s  dim  and  distant  verge, 

Full  and  unveiled,  the  moon’s  broad  disk  emerges. 

On  Tivoli,  and  where  the  fairy  hues 
Of  autumn  glow  upon  Abruzzi’s  woods. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  87 


The  silver  light  is  spreading.  Far  above, 
Encompassed  with  their  thin,  cold  atmosphere, 

The  Apennines  uplift  their  snowy  brows. 

Glowing  with  colder  beauty,  where  unheard 
The  eagle  screams  in  the  fathomless  ether. 

And  stays  his  wearied  wing.  Here  let  us  pause. 

The  spirit  of  these  solitudes  — the  soul 

That  dwells  within  these  steep  and  difficult  places  — 

Speaks  a mysterious  language  to  mine  own. 

And  brings  unutterable  musings.  Earth 
Sleeps  in  the  shades  of  nightfall,  and  the  sea 
Spreads  like  a thin  blue  haze  beneath  my  feet; 

Whilst  the  gray  columns  and  the  mouldering  tombs 
Of  the  Imperial  City,  hidden  deep 
Beneath  the  mantle  of  their  shadows,  rest. 

My  spirit  looks  on  earth.  A heavenly  voice 
Comes  silently;  “ Dreamer,  is  earth  thy  dwelling  ? 

Lo!  nursed  within  that  fair  and  fruitful  bosom. 

Which  has  sustained  thy  being,  and  within 
The  colder  breast  of  Ocean,  lie  the  germs 
Of  thine  own  dissolution ! E’en  the  air, 

That  fans  the  clear  blue  sky,  and  gives  thee  strength. 
Up  from  the  sullen  lake  of  mouldering  reeds. 

And  the  wide  waste  of  forest,  where  the  osier 
Thrives  in  the  damp  and  motionless  atmosphere. 

Shall  bring  the  dire  and  wasting  pestilence, 

And  blight  thy  cheek.  Dream  thou  of  higher  things: 
This  world  is  not  thy  home!  ” And  yet  my  eye 
Rests  upon  earth  again.  How  beautiful 
Where  wild  Velino  heaves  its  sullen  waves 
Down  the  high  cliff  of  gray  and  shapeless  granite. 
Hung  on  the  curling  mist,  the  moonlight  bow 
Arches  the  perilous  river!  A soft  light 
Silvers  the  Albanian  mountains,  and  the  haze 
That  rests  upon  their  summits  mellows  down 
The  austerer  features  of  their  beauty.  Faint 
And  dim-discovered  glow  the  Sabine  hills; 

And,  listening  to  the  sea’s  monotonous  shell. 


88 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


High  on  the  cliffs  of  Terracina  stands 
The  castle  of  the  royal  Goth  ^ in  ruins. 

But  night  is  in  her  wane  : day’s  early  flush 
Glows  like  a hectic  on  her  fading  cheek, 

Wasting  its  beauty.  And  the  opening  dawn 
With  cheerful  lustre  lights  the  royal  city, 

Where,  with  its  proud  tiara  of  dark  towers, 

Tt  sleeps  upon  its  own  romantic  bay. 

In  the  issue  of  Jan.  1,  1825,  appeared  the  follow- 
ing : — 

THE  LUNATIC  GIRL. 

Most  beautiful,  most  gentle!  Yet  how  lost 
To  all  that  gladdens  the  fair  earth ; the  eye 
That  watched  her  being;  the  maternal  care 
That  kept  and  nourished  her;  and  the  calm  light 
That  steals  from  our  own  thoughts,  and  softly  rests 
On  youth’s  green  valleys  and  smooth-sliding  waters. 

Alas!  few  suns  of  life,  and  fewer  winds. 

Had  withered  or  had  wasted  the  fresh  rose 
That  bloomed  upon  her  cheek:  but  one  chill  frost 
Came  in  that  early  autumn,  when  ripe  thought 
Is  rich  and  beautiful,  and  blighted  it; 

And  the  fair  stalk  grew  languid  day  by  day, 

And  drooped  — and  drooped,  and  shed  its  many  leaves. 

’Tis  said  that  some  have  died  of  love;  and  some, 

That  once  from  beauty’s  high  romance  had  caught 
Love’s  passionate  feelings  and  heart-wasting  cares, 

Have  spurned  life’s  threshold  with  a desperate  foot; 

And  others  have  gone  mad,  — and  she  was  one! 

Her  lover  died  at  sea;  and  they  had  felt 
A coldness  for  each  other  when  they  parted, 

But  love  returned  again:  and  to  her  ear 

Came  tidings  that  the  ship  which  bore  her  lover 

Had  suddenly  gone  down  at  sea,  and  all  were  lost. 

I saw  her  in  her  native  vale,  when  high 


1 Theodoric. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW. 


The  aspiring  lark  up  from  the  reedy  river 
Mounted  on  cheerful  pinion;  and  she  sat 
Casting  smooth  pebbles  into  a clear  fountain, 

And  marking  how  they  sunk ; and  oft  she  sighed 
For  him  that  perished  thus  in  the  vast  deep. 

She  had  a sea-shell,  that  her  lover  brought 
From  the  far-distant  ocean;  and  she  pressed 
Its  smooth,  cold  lips  unto  her  ear,  and  thought 
It  whispered  tidings  of  the  dark  blue  sea: 

And  sad,  she  cried,  “ The  tides  are  out!  — and  now 
I see  his  corpse  upon  the  stormy  beach!  ” 

Around  her  neck  a string  of  rose-lipped  shells. 

And  coral,  and  white  pearl,  was  loosely  hung; 

And  close  beside  her  lay  a delicate  fan. 

Made  of  the  halcyon’s  blue  wing;  and,  when 
She  looked  upon  it,  it  would  calm  her  thoughts 
As  that  bird  calms  the  ocean,  — for  it  gave 
Mournful,  yet  pleasant,  memory.  Once  I marked. 
When  through  the  mountain  hollows  and  green  woods. 
That  bent  beneath  its  footsteps,  the  loud  wind 
Came  with  a.  voice  as  of  the  restless  deep, 

She  raised  her  head,  and  on  her  pale,  cold  cheek 
A beauty  of  diviner  seeming  came; 

And  then  she  spread  her  hands,  and  smiled,  as  if 
She  welcomed  a long-absent  friend  — and  then 
Shrunk  timorously  back  again,  and  wept. 

I turned  away:  a multitude  of  thoughts, 

Mournful  and  dark,  were  crowding  on  my  mind; 

And  as  I left  that  lost  and  ruined  one,  — 

A living  monument  that  still  on  earth 
There  is  warm  love  and  deep  sincerity,  — 

She  gazed  upon  the  west,  where  the  blue  sky 
Held,  like  an  ocean,  in  its  wide  embrace 
Those  fairy  islands  of  bright  cloud,  that  lay 
So  calm  and  quietly  in  the  thin  ether. 

And  then  she  pointed  where,  alone  and  high. 

One  little  cloud  sailed  onward,  like  a lost 

And  wandering  bark,  and  fainter  grew,  and  fainter. 


90 


IIENUY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


And  soon  was  swallowed  up  in  the  blue  depths; 

And,  when  it  sunk  away,  she  turned  again 
With  sad  despondency  and  tears  to  earth. 

Three  long  and  weary  months  — yet  not  a whisper 
Of  stern  reproach  for  that  cold  parting ! Then 
She  sat  no  longer  by  her  favorite  fountain: 

She  was  at  rest  forever. 

In  the  number  bearing  date  Jan.  15,  1825,  the 
following  beautiful  effusion  first  saw  the  light  of 
publicity.  It  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  poetical 
of  Longfellow’s  earlier  productions. 

THE  VENETIAN  GONDOLIER. 

Here  rest  the  weary  oar!  — soft  airs 
Breathe  out  in  the  o’erarching  sky; 

And  Night  — sweet  Night  — serenely  wears 
A smile  of  peace:  her  noon  is  nigh. 

Where  the  tall  fir  in  quiet  stands. 

And  waves,  embracing  the  chaste  shores. 

Move  o’er  sea-shells  and  bright  sands. 

Is  heard  the  sound  of  dipping  oars. 

Swift  o’er  the  wave  the  light  bark  springs. 

Love’s  midnight  hour  draws  lingering  near; 

And  list!  — his  tuneful  viol  strings 
The  young  Venetian  gondolier. 

Lo  ! on  the  silver-mirrored  deep. 

On  earth,  and  her  embosomed  lakes. 

And  where  the  silent  rivers  sweep. 

From  the  thin  cloud  fair  moonlight  breaks. 

Soft  music  breathes  around,  and  dies 
On  the  calm  bosom  of  the  sea; 

Whilst  in  her  cell  the  novice  sighs 
Her  vespers  to  her  rosary. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  91 


At  their  dim  altars  bow  fair  forms, 

In  tender  charity  for  those, 

That,  helpless  left  to  life’s  rude  storms, 
Have  never  found  this  calm  repose. 

The  bell  swings  to  its  midnight  chime. 
Relieved  against  the  deep  blue  sky. 
Haste ! — dip  the  oar  again  — ’tis  time 
To  seek  Genevra’s  balcony. 


The  issue  of  Feb.  1,  1825,  contained  the  poem 
“Woods  in  Winter.”  As  the  most  of  this  produc- 
tion is  in  the  collected  works,  we  omit  it  here. 

In  the  issue  of  March  15,  1825,  appeared  the  fol- 
lowing : — 

DIRGE  OVER  A NAMELESS  GRAVE. 

By  yon  still  river,  where  the  wave 
Is  winding  slow  at  evening’s  close, 

The  beech,  upon  a nameless  grave. 

Its  sadly  moving  shadow  throws. 

O’er  the  fair  woods  the  sun  looks  down 
Upon  the  many  twinkling  leaves. 

And  twilight’s  mellow  shades  are  brown 
AVhere  darkly  the  green  turf  upheaves. 

The  river  glides  in  silence  there, 

And  hardly  waves  the  sapling  tree: 

Sweet  flowers  are  springing,  and  the  air 
Is  full  of  balm  — but  where  is  she! 

They  bade  her  wed  a son  of  pride. 

And  leave  the  hopes  she  cherished  long ; 

She  loved  but  one,  and  would  not  hide 
A love  which  knew  no  wrong. 


92 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  * 


And  months  went  sadly  on  — and  years; 

And  she  was  wasting  day  by  day: 

At  length  she  died  — and  many  tears 
Were  shed,  that  she  should  pass  away. 

Then  came  a gray  old  man,  and  knelt 
With  bitter  weeping  by  her  tomb ; 

And  others  mourned  for  him,  who  felt 
That  he  had  sealed  a daughter’s  doom. 

The  funeral-train  has  long  past  on. 

And  time  wiped  dry  the  father’s  tear. 

Farewell,  lost  maiden!  — there  is  one 
That  mourns  thee  yet,  — and  he  is  here. 

In  the  issue  of  April  1,  1825,  appeared  the  follow- 
ing poem : — 

A SONG  OF  SAVOY. 

As  the  dim  twilight  shrouds 
The  mountain’s  purple  crest. 

And  summer’s  white  and  folded  clouds 
Are  glowing  in  the  west. 

Loud  shouts  come  up  the  rocky  dell. 

And  voices  hail  the  evening-bell. 

Faint  is  the  goatherd’s  song, 

And  sighing  comes  the  breeze; 

The  silent  river  sweeps  along 
Amid  its  bending  trees ; 

And  the  full  moon  shines  faintly  there. 

And  music  fills  the  evening  air. 

Beneath  the  waving  firs 

The  tinkling  cymbals  sound ; 

And,  as  the  wind  the  foliage  stirs, 

I feel  the  dancers  bound 
Where  the  green  branches  arched  above, 

Bend  over  this  fair  scene  of  love. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW. 


93 


And  he  is  there,  that  sought 
My  young  heart  long  ago! 

But  he  has  left  me  — though  I thought 
He  ne’er  could  leave  me  so. 

Ah!  lovers’  vows  — how  frail  are  they! 

And  his  — were  made  but  yesterday. 

AVhy  comes  he  not?  I call 
In  tears  upon  him  yet : 

’Twere  better  ne’er  to  love  at  all, 

Than  love,  and  then  forget ! 

Why  comes  he  not?  Alas!  I should 
Reclaim  him  still,  if  weeping  could. 

But  see  — he  leaves  the  glade. 

And  beckons  me  away: 

He  comes  to  seek  his  mountain  maid ! 

I cannot  chide  his  stay. 

Glad  sounds  along  the  valley  swell. 

And  voices  hail  the  evening-bell. 

The  issue  of  April  15,  1825,  contained  the  first  ac- 
knowledged poem,  entitled  “ An  April  Day,”  which, 
with  a few  slight  changes,  appears  in  the  collected 
works.  It  is  here  omitted. 

In  the  issue  of  May  15,  1825,  was  published  the 
following : — 

THE  INDIAN  HUNTER. 

When  the  summer  harvest  was  gathered  in. 

And  the  sheaf  of  the  gleaner  grew  white  and  thin. 

And  the  ploughshare  was  in  its  furrow  left. 

Where  the  stubble  land  had  been  lately  cleft, 

An  Indian  hunter,  with  unstrung  bow. 

Looked  down  where  the  valley  lay  stretched  below. 

He  was  a stranger  there,  and  all  that  day 
Had  been  out  on  the  hills,  a perilous  way: 


94 


HENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


But  the  foot  of  the  deer  was  far  and  fleet, 

And  the  wolf  kept  aloof  from  the  hunter’s  feet;^ 

And  bitter  feelings  passed  o’er  him  then, 

As  he  stood  by  the  populous  haunts  of  men. 

The  winds  of  autumn  came  over  the  woods, 

As  the  sun  stole  out  from  their  solitudes ; 

The  moss  was  white  on  the  maple’s  trunk. 

And  dead  from  its  arms  the  pale  vine  shrunk; 

And  ripened  the  mellow  fruit  hung,  and  red 
•Were  the  tree’s  withered  leaves  round  it  shed. 

The  foot  of  the  reaper  moved  slow  on  the  lawn, 

And  the  sickle  cut  down  the  yellow  corn ; 

The  mower  sung  loud  by  the  meadow-side, 

Where  the  mists  of  evening  were  spreading  wide; 
And  the  voice  of  the  herdsman  came  up  the  lea, 

And  the  dance  went  round  by  the  greenwood  tree. 

Then  the  hunter  turned  away  from  that  scene. 
Where  the  home  of  his  fathers  once  had  been. 

And  heard,  by  the  distant  and  measured  stroke. 
That  the  woodman  hewed  down  the  giant  oak; 

And  burning  thoughts  flas|ied  over  his  mind 
Of  the  white  man’s  faith,  and  love  unkind. 

The  moon  of  the  harvest  grew  high  and  bright. 

As  her  golden  horn  pierced  the  cloud  of  white; 

A footstep  was  heard  in  the  rustling  brake. 

Where  the  beech  overshadowed  the  misty  lake. 

And  a mourning  voice,  and  a plunge  from  shore, 
And  the  hunter  was  seen  on  the  hills  no  more. 

When  years  had  passed  on,  by  that  still  lakeside. 
The  fisher  looked  down  through  the  silver  tide : 

And  there,  on  the  smooth  yellow  sand  displayed, 

A skeleton  wasted  and  white  was  laid ; 

And  ’twas  seen,  as  the  waters  moved  deep  and  slow, 
That  the  hand  "was  still  grasping  a hunter’s  bow. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  95 


The  poem,  “Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns  of  Beth- 
lehem,” was  printed  in  “ The  Gazette,”  June  1, 1825, 
and  is  retained  in  the  collected  works.  The  poem, 
“Sunrise  on  the  Hills,”  appeared  July  1,  1825,  and 
is  still  retained.  Both  of  these  poems  are  here  omit- 
ted. 

On  the  1st  of  August,  1825,  appeared  the  follow- 
ing : — 

JECKOYVA. 

[The  Indian  chief,  Jeckoyva,  as  tradition  says,  perished  alone  on  the  moun- 
tain which  now  bears  his  name.  Night  overtook  him  whilst  hunting  among  the 
cliffs ; and  he  was  not  heard  of  till  after  a long  time,  when  his  half-decayed  corpse 
was  found  at  the  foot  of  a high  rock,  over  which  he  must  have  fallen.  Mount 
Jeckoyva  is  near  the  White  Hills.] 

They  made  the  warrior’s  grave  beside 
The  dashing  of  his  native  tide; 

And  there  was  mourning  in  the  glen  — 

The  strong  wail  of  a thousand  men  — 

O’er  him  thus  fallen  in  his  pride, 

Ere  mist  of  age,  or  blight  or  blast. 

Had  o’er  his  mighty  spirit  passed. 

They  made  the  warrior’s  grave  beneath 
The  bending  of  the  wild  elm’s  wreath. 

When  the  dark  hunter’s  piercing  eye 
Had  found  that  mountain  rest  on  high. 

Where,  scattered  by  the  sharp  wind’s  breath, 

Beneath  the  rugged  cliff  were  thrown 
The  strong  belt  and  the  mouldering  bone. 

Where  was  the  warrior's  foot,  when  first 
The  red  sun  on  the  mountain  burst  ? 

Where,  when  the  sultry  noon-time  came 
On  the  green  vales  with  scorching  flame. 

And  made  the  woodlands  faint  with  thirst? 

’Twas  where  the  wind  is  keen  and  loud. 

And  the  gray  eagle  bivasts  the  cloud. 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


9G 


Where  was  the  warrior’s  foot,  when  night 
Veiled  in  thick  cloud  the  mountain-height? 

None  heard  the  loud  and  sudden  crash, 

None  saw  the  fallen  warrior  dash 
Down  the  bare  rock  so  high  and  white! 

But  he  that  drooped  not  in  the  chase 
Made  on  the  hills  his  burial-place. 

They  found  him  there,  when  the  long  day 
Of  cold  desertion  passed  away ; 

And  traces  on  that  barren  cleft 
Of  struggling  hard  with  death  were  left,  — 

Deep  marks  and  footprints  in  the  clay. 

And  they  have  laid  this  feathery  helm 
By  the  dark  river  and  green  elm. 

The  number  for  Aug.  15,  1825,  contained  the  fol- 
lowing poem : — 

THE  SEA-DIVER. 

My  way  is  on  the  bright  blue  sea, 

My  sleep  upon  its  rocking  tide ; 

And  many  an  eye  has  followed  me 
Where  billows  clasp  the  worn  seaside. 

My  plumage  bears  the  crimson  blush, 

When  ocean  by  the  sea  is  kissed. 

When  fades  the  evening’s  purple  flush, 

My  dark  wing  cleaves  the  silver  mist. 

Full  many  a fathom  down  beneath 
The  bright  arch  of  the  splendid  deep, 

My  ear  has  heard  the  sea-shell  breathe 
O’er  living  myriads  in  their  sleep. 

, They  rested  by  the  coral  throne. 

And  by  the  pearly  diadem; 

Where  the  pale  sea-grape  had  o’ergrown 
The  glorious  dwellings  made  for  them. 


THE  EAllLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  97 


At  night,  upon  my  storm-drenched  wing, 

I poised  above  a helmless  bark ; 

And  soon  I saw  the  shattered  thing 
Had  passed  away,  and  left  no  mark. 

And,  when  the  wind  and  storm  were  done, 

A ship,  that  had  rode  out  the  gale. 

Sunk  down  — without  a signal-gun; 

And  none  was  left  to  tell  the  tale. 

I saw  the  pomp  of  day  depart. 

The  cloud  resign  its  golden  crown, 

When  to  the  ocean’s  beating  heart 
The  sailor’s  wasted  corse  went  down. 

Peace  be  to  those  wdiose  graves  are  made 
Beneath  the  bright  and  silver  sea! 

Peace  — that  their  relics  there  were  laid 
With  no  vain  pride  and  pageantry. 

In  the  issue  of  Oct.  1,  1825,  appeared  the  poem  on 
“Autumn.”  IMr.  Longfellow  chose  to  retain  it  in 
the  collected  edition  of  his  poems,  and  it  is  therefore 
omitted  here. 

The  issue  of  Nov.  15,  1825,  contained  the  follow- 
ing : — 

MUSINGS. 

I SAT  by  my  window  one  night. 

And  watched  how  the  stars  grew  high; 

And  the  earth  and  skies  were  a splendid  sight 
To  a sober  and  musing  eye. 

From  heav’^en  the  silver  moon  shone  down 
With  gentle  and  mellow  ray. 

And  beneath  the  crowded  roofs  of  the  town 
In  broad  light  and  shadow  lay. 


98 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


A glory  was  on  the  silent  sea, 

And  mainland  and  island  too, 

Till  a haze  came  over  the  lowland  lea. 

And  shrouded  that  beautiful  blue. 

Bright  in  the  moon  the  autumn  wood 
Its  crimson  scarf  unrolled ; 

And  the  trees,  like  a splendid  army,  stood 
In  a panoply  of  gold. 

I saw  them  waving  their  banners  high. 

As  their  crests  to  the  night-wind  bowed; 

And  a distant  sound  on  the  air  went  by, 
Like  the  whispering  of  a crowd. 

Then  I watched  from  my  window  how  fast 
The  lights  all  around  me  fled. 

As  the  wearied  man  to  his  slumber  passed, 
And  the  sick  one  to  his  bed. 

All  faded  save  one,  that  burned 
With  distant  and  steady  light; 

But  that,  too,  went  out  — and  I turned 
AVhere  my  own  lamp  within  shoue  bright. 

Thus,  thought  I,  our  joys  must  die. 

Yes,  — the  brightest  from  earth  we  win  ; 

Till  each  turns  away,  with  a sigh. 

To  the  lamp  that  burns  brightly  within. 


In  the  issue  of  April  1,  1826,  appeared  the  follow- 
ing beautiful  poem ; — 


SONG. 

Where,  from  the  eye  of  day. 

The  dark  and  silent  river 
Pursues  through  tangled  woods  a way 
O’er  which  the  tall  trees  quiver; 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  99 


The  silver  mist,  that  breaks 
From  out  that  woodland  cover, 

Betrays  the  hidden  path  it  takes. 

And  hangs  the  current  over. 

So  oft  the  thoughts  that  burst 
From  hidden  springs  of  feeling. 

Like  silent  streams,  unseen  at  first. 

From  our  cold  hearts  are  stealing; 

But  soon  the  clouds  that  veil 
Tlie  eye  of  Love,  when  glowing, 

Betray  the  long  uuwhispered  tale 
Of  thoughts  in  darkness  flowing! 

Here  the  contributions  dropped,  nor  did  the  maga- 
zine itself  long  survive.  The  most  singular  part 
of  the  affair  is,  tliat  Longfellow,  when  issuing  his 
first  collected  volume  of  poems,  thirteen  years  later, 
the  “Voices  of  the  Night,”  thought  it  worth  while 
to  recall  only  five  (and  not  all  of  them  the  best)  of 
these  early  poems  from  their  oubliette. 

The  pieces  that  were  reprinted  received  a few 
unimportant  verbal  alterations,  but  the  changes 
were  altogether  insignificant.  In  a short  preface  to 
this  section  of  earlier  pieces,  Mr.  Longfellow  says, 
that  “these  poems  were  written,  for  the  most  part, 
during  my  college  life,  and  all  of  them  before  tlie 
age  of  nineteen.  Some  have  found  tlieir  way  into 
schools,  and  seem  to  be  successful : otliers  lead  a 
vagabond  and  precarious  existence  in  the  corners  of 
newspapers,  or  liave  changed  tlieir  names,  and  run 
away  to  seek  their  fortunes  beyond  tlie  sea.  I say, 
with  the  Bishop  of  Avranches  on  a similar  occa- 


100 


HKNKV'  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


sioii,  ‘ I cannot  be  displeased  to  see  these  children  of 
mine,  which  I have  neglected,  and  almost  exposed, 
brought  from  their  wanderings  in  lanes  and  alleys, 
and  safely  lodged,  in  order  to  go  forth  into  the 
world  together  in  a more  decorous  garb.’  ” 

It  is  now  considerably  more  than  half  a century 
since  the  latest  of  these  early  poems  saw  the  light, 
and  the  name  of  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  is 
now  known  and  honored  wherever  the  English  lan- 
guage is  spoken.  We  possess,  to-da}^  the  mature 
fruits  of  his  genius;  but  it  will  be  pleasant  and  profit- 
able to  all  lovers  and  students  of  poetry,  to  have 
an  opportunitw  of  recalling  the  first  flights  of  song 
of  one  who  has  since  become  so  famous  throughout 
the  world. 

Mr.  George  B.  Cheever,  writing  in  1831,  says,  “ Most 
of  Mr.  Longfellow’s  poetry,  indeed,  we  believe  nearly 
all  that  has  been  published,  appeared,  during  his  col- 
lege life,  in  ‘ The  United-States  Literary  Gazette.’  It 
displa}^s  a very  refined  taste,  and  a very  pure  vein 
of  poetical  feeling.  It  possesses  what  has  been  a 
rare  quality  in  the  American  poets,  — simplicity  of 
expression,  without  any  attempt  to  startle  the  reader, 
or  to  produce  an  effect  by  far-sought  epithets.  There 
is  much  sweetness  in  his  imagery  and  language,  and 
sometimes  he  is  liardly  excelled  by  any  one  for  the 
quiet  accuracy  exhibited  in  his  pictures  of  natural 
objects.  His  poetry  will  not  easily  be  forgotten.”  ^ 

To  such  praise,  little  need  be  added ; nor  is  it 
necessary  to  enter  into  any  detailed  criticism  of 

1 The  American  Common-place  Book  of  Poetry,  with  Occasional 
Notes,  by  George  B.  Cheever,  Boston,  1831. 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  101 


these  slight  first-fruits  of  Longfellow's  muse.  If 
the  savor  of  them  is  sweet,  there  can  be  no  harm  in 
culling  them  from  the  tangled  wilderness  where 
they  lay  unheeded,  and  in  danger  of  perishing. 

In  order  to  appreciate  aright  Mr.  Longfellow’s  lit- 
erary service  to  this  country,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
go  back,  in  imagination,  to  the  epoch  when  he  began 
his  literary  career.  The  year  1825  is  a good  year 
on  which  to  fix  the  mind,  inasmuch  as  it  marks  the 
close  of  the  first  quarter  of  the  present  century.  At 
that  time  American  literature  was  not  born.  The 
very  appetite  for  it  had  to  be  evoked ; the  very 
means  of  giving  it  to  the  public,  to  be  created.  All 
of  the  publishing-houses  of  that  day  — and  there  was 
really  no  great  publishing-house  in  existence  in 
America  — were  contenting  themselves  with  simply 
reprinting  the  works  of  English  authors,  and  were 
paying  nothing  for  the  privilege.  A very  few  lit- 
erary periodicals  were  barely  subsisting  on  a miserly 
patronage,  and  were,  as  a rule,  ill-deserving  of  that. 
No  human  mind  had  as  yet  conceived  the  idea  of  a 
magazine  on  the  broad  and  well-directed  basis  of 
to-day.  The  religious  press  of  the  period  was  totally 
unlike  that  of  the  present  era ; and  the  platform  of 
all  was  narrow,  intolerant,  and  bitterly  controversial. 
Charles  Dickens’s  caricatures  in  “Martin  Chuzzle- 
wit,”  published  in  1843,  would  not  have  been  so 
hateful  if  they  had  not  been  so  true.  In  general 
terms,  there  was  then  no  American  literature,  barely 
a companionship  in  letters. 

But  it  must  not  be  assumed,  in  this  survey  of 
the  field,  that  there  was  then  no  literary  man  or  wo- 


102 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


man  in  the  country;  for  quite  a number  of  persons 
liad  already  essayed  something  of  a literary  cliarac- 
ter,  though  under  adverse  conditions,  and  to  a small 
audience.  William  Cullen  Bryant  had  published 
his  poem  of  “ Thanatopsis  ” in  1810,  the  “ Ages  ” in 
1821,  and,  having  abandoned  the  law  for  literature, 
had  gone  to  New  York,  and,  in  1825,  founded  ‘‘The 
New- York  Review  and  Athenaeum  Magazine,”  in 
which  was  to  appear  some  of  his  best  poems.  In 
the  following  year  he  became  editor  of  “ Tf.e  Even- 
ing Post,”  a position  which  he  held  until  the  close 
of  his  life.  Washington  Irving  was  about  the  only 
writer  who  had  succeeded  in  achieving  any  thing  of 
a reputation,  either  at  home  or  abroad.  He  had 
already  published  “ Salmagundi,”  “ Knickerbocker's 
History  of  New  York,”  the  “Sketch-Book,”  “Brace- 
bridge  Hall,”  and  the  “ Tales  of  a Traveller.” 
Of  this  genial  author,  a London  reviewer  then  Avrote, 
“We  may  congratulate  him  on  the  rank  which  he 
has  already  gained,  of  which  the  momentary  caprice 
of  the  public  cannot  long  deprive  him ; and  with 
hearty  good-will,  playfully,  but  we  lioj^e  not  pro- 
fanely, we  exclaim  as  we  part  with  him,  ‘Very  pleas- 
ant hast  thou  been  to  me,  my  brother  JonathanI’” 
(^dgar  A.  Poe,  at  this  time,  was  chiefly  celebrated 
for  his  feats  of  reckless  hardihood.  If  he  had  as  yet 
written  any  verses,  no  publisher  had  brought  them 
oii^  Motley  was  still  a youth,  and  attending  school 
at  Dorchester,  Mass. ; and  Prescott  had  not  yet  ap- 
peared before  the  public  as  an  historian. 

Whittier  was  still  on  his  father’s  farm  near  Haver- 
hill, Mass.,  anon  writing  occasional  verses  for  the 


THE  EARLIER  POEMS  OF  LONGFELLOW.  103 


local  newspaper,  and  turning  his  hand  to  a little 
shoemaking.  Emerson,  ha\dng  studied  divinity,  had 
assumed  the  charge  of  a congregation  in  Boston ; but 
not  yet  had  he  come  forth  as  an  author.  Holmes- 
was  just  on  the  point  of  entering  Harvard  College ; 
and,  as  we  have  already  observed,  Hawthorne  had 
written  nothing  beyond  a few  college  exercises. 
Cooper  was  feeling  his  way,  and  had  yet  in  the  cru- 
cible his  unformed  stories  of  Indian  and  pioneer  life. 
It  will  thus  be  seen  that  American  life  was  strangely 
prosaic  ; and,  before  it  could  feel  the  glow  of  its  own 
poetry,  it  must  know  something  of  the  poetry  of  the 
pa.st.  This  was  Longfellow’s  first  service  to  his  coun- 
trymen. “ He  was  a mediator  between  the  old  and 
the  new : he  translated  the  romance  of  the  past  into 
the  language  of  universal  life.  Out  of  the  closed 
volume  he  gathered  the  flowers  that  lay  pressed 
and  dead  and  odorless:  he  breathed  into  them  the 
breath  of  life,  and  they  bloomed  and  were  fragrant 
again.  He  came  to  the  past  as  the  south  winds- 
come  to  the  woods  in  spring ; and  the  trees  put  out 
their  leaves,  and  the  earth  its  mosses,  and  the  dell 
its  wild-flowers,  to  greet  him.”  As  we  follow  down 
the  poet’s  years,  from  this  early  period  of  scholarly 
venture  to  the  matured  present,  we  shall  find  that 
his  ambition  was  always  directed  towards  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a laudable  purpose,  and  that  this  purpose 
was  largely  the  revivification  of  a buried  past.  For 
it  he  made  patient  preparation  in  most  careful  and 
painstaking  study. 

Notwithstanding  that  Longfellow  liad  published 
several  poems,  and  these  had  been  widely  reprinted, 


104 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


still,  at  the  time  of  which  I write,  he  himself  was 
not  known  as  an  author  beyond  the  circle  of  his  own 
family  and  most  intimate  friends.  That  his  verses 
were  admired,  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  the  editor 
of  “ The  Gazette  ” never  refused  one  of  his  contri- 
butions, which  were  invariably  sent  to  him  anony- 
mously, or  rather  bore  only  the  signature  “ H.  W.  L.” 
When  Mr.  Carter,  who  succeeded  Mr.  Parsons  in  the 
editorial  chair,  met  Professor  Packard  subsequently 
in  Boston,  he  made  inquiry  what  young  man,  signing 
himself  “ H.  W.  L.,”  was  sending  him  such  fine 
poetry  from  Bowdoin  College.  The  professor  was 
able  only  to  conjecture  the  name  of  the  poet. 

In  1826,  the  year  after  Longfellow  left  college,  a 
modest  volume  of  “Miscellaneous  Poems  selected 
from  the  United-States  Literary  Gazette”  appeared; 
and  it  furnished  by  far  the  best  summary  of  the 
national  poetry  up  to  that  time.  Its  authors  were 
Bryant,  Longfellow,  Percival,  Dawes,  Mellen,  and 
Jones;  and  it  certainly  offered  a curious  contrast  to 
that  equally  characteristic  volume  of  1794,  “The  Co- 
lumbian Muse,”  whose  poets  were  Barlow,  Trumbull, 
Freneau,  Dwight,  Humphreys,  and  a few  others ; 
not  a single  poem  or  poet  being  held  in  common  by 
the  two  collections. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIKST  VISIT  TO  EUEOPE.  105 


CHAPTER  V. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE, 


(1826-1829.) 


FTER  his  graduation,  as  the  second  in  a class 


of  thirty-one  members,  Longfellow  began  the 
study  of  law  in  his  father’s  office  in  Portland,  with 
a view  of  entering  upon  its  practice.  But  as  might 
have  been  expected  of  one  whose  tastes  were  already 
formed,  and  who  had  made  such  a growing  success 
in  the  field  of  literature,  the  young  man  soon  wearied 
of  legal  study.  In  the  unattractive  pages  of  Coke 
and  Blackstone,  he  was  unable  to  find  any  thing 
congenial  to  his  mind ; and  almost  in  despair,  and 
very  much  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  his  father,  he 
confessed  that  he  cherished  no  love  for  the  subject, 
and  wished  to  be  excused  from  its  further  study. 
While  he  was  still  undecided  to  what  next  to  turn 
his  attention,  — the  thought  of  becoming  a literary 
man  never  once  entered  liis  head  at  this  time,  — the 
call  was  extended  to  him  to  become  professor  of 
modern  languages  and  literature  at  his  Alma  Mater. 
This  was  indeed  a surprise ; for  scarcely  six  months 
had  elapsed  since  his  return  from  Brunswick,  and 
Longfellow  was  now  but  a youth  of  nineteen. 

There  is  a tradition  in  the  college,  relative  to  this 


106 


IlENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGEELLOW. 


appointment,  wliicli  I must  not  fail  to  mention  just 
liere.  While  yet  a college  student,  Longfellow  had 
written  a metrical  translation  of  one  of  Horace’s 
odes.  The  reading  of  this  translation,  or  a part  of 
it,  at  a general  examination,  had  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  examiners  by  its  rare  beauty  of  expres- 
sion ; and,  when  the  proposal  was  made  in  the  board 
of  trustees  to  establish  a chair  of  modern  languages 
and  literature,  the  Hon.  Benjamin  Orr,  a distin- 
guished lawyer  of  Maine,  and  a great  lover  of  Hor- 
ace, nominated  Mr.  Longfellow,  and  referred  to  this 
translation  as  sufficient  proof  of  his  fitness  for  the 
position.  The  Horace  itself,  with  the  autographs  of 
Longfellow,  Calvin  Stowe,  and  John  A.  Andrew,  is 
in  the  collection  of  Professor  Egbert  C.  Smyth  of 
Andover,  Mass.^ 

An  invitation  to  a professorship  meant  something 
in  those  days ; and,  in  the  present  instance,  it  meant 
every  thing.  A new  chair  had  been  created ; and 
Longfellow,  with  neither  years  nor  experience  to 
back  him,  was  now  selected  to  fill  it.  He  was  asked, 
not  to  carry  on  a department  already  established, 
but  to  organize  one  himself,  at  a time,  be  it  remem- 
bered, when  American  colleges  had  not  yet  learned 
that  France  and  Germany  have  a literature  as  well 
as  Greece  and  Rome.  Should  he  accept  the  invita- 
tion? this  was  now  the  only  question  with  him.  It 
was  well  considered  in  his  own  mind,  and  warmly 
debated  around  the  home  fireside.  Pie  was  not  ex- 
pected to  set  to  work  immediately,  but  was  given 
permission  to  prepare  himself  for  the  new  position ; 

1 Rev.  Lyman  Abbott  is  my  authority  for  this  anecdote. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  107 


and  preparation  presupposed  a trip  to  Europe.  But 
the  time  came  when  it  became  necessary  to  return 
an  answer  to  the  board  of  trustees : it  was  an  affirma- 
tive response. 

In  the  spring  of  1826,  all  preparations  having 
been  duly  completed,  Longfellow  bade  adieu  to  his 
friends  in  Portland,  and  went  to  New  York.  Sev- 
eral days  were  consumed  in  exploring  some  of  the' 
wonders  of  the  great  metropolis,  and  in  making 
excursions  to  the  surrounding  places  of  interest. 
Having  engaged  his  passage  to  Europe  on  a sailing- 
vessel,  which  had  not  yet  gotten  ready  for  departure, 
and  having  a few  days  of  leisure  still  on  his  hands, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  make  a visit  to 
Philadelphia.  It  was  on  a beautiful  spring  day 
when  he  started,  and  the  country  was  as  lovely  then 
as  it  is  now.  I quote  his  own  account  of  this  inter- 
esting ramble : — 

“ I spent  a week  in  the  Quaker  City,  stopping  at 
the  old  Mansion  House  on  Third  Street,  near  Wal- 
nut. It  was  one  of  the  best  hotels  I ever  stopped  at, 
and  at  that  time  perhaps  the  best  in  the  country. 
It  has  been  the  private  residence  of  the  wealthy 
Brighams,  and  was  kept  by  a man  named  Head. 
The  table  was  excellent ; and  the  bed-chambers 
were  splendidly  furnished,  and  were  great,  large, 
airy  rooms.  It  has  given  way  now  to  the  demands 
of  business,  I believe ; for,  when  I was  last  there,  I 
could  hardly  recognize  the  place  where  I stood. 
During  this  visit,  I spent  much  time  looking  about; 
and  Philadelpliia  is  one  of  tlie  places  which  made  a 
lasting  impression  upon  me,  and  left  its  mark  upon 


108 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


my  later  work.  Even  tlie  streets  of  Philadelpliia 
make  rliyme,  — 

“ ‘ Chestnut,  walnut,  spruce,  and  pine. 

Market,  arch,  race,  and  vine.’ 

“I  got  the  climax  of  ‘Evangeline’  from  Philadel- 
phia, and  it  was  singnlar  how  1 happened  to  do  so. 
I was  passing  down  Spruce  Street  one  day  towards 
my  hotel,  after  a walk,  when  my  attention  was  at- 
tracted to  a large  building  with  beautiful  trees  about 
it,  inside  of  a high  enclosure.  I Avalked  along  until 
I came  to  the  great  gate,  and  then  stepped  inside, 
and  looked  carefully  over  the  place.  The  charming 
picture  of  lawn,  flower-beds,  and  shade  wliicli  it  pre- 
sented, made  an  impression  which  has  never  left  me  ; 
and  twenty-four  years  after,  when  I came  to  write 
‘ Evangeline,’  I located  the  final  scene  — the  meeting 
between  Evangeline  and  Gabriel,  and  the  death  — at 
this  poorhouse,  and  the  burial  in  an  old  Catholic 
graveyard  not  far  away,  which  I found,  by  chance, 
in  another  of  my  walks.” 

Having  filled  his  mind  with  pleasant  reminiscences 
of  the  old  Quaker  City,  Longfellow  returned  to  New 
York,  whence  he  was  now  about  to  leave  for  a pro- 
longed sojourn  in  the  lands  beyond  the  sea.  What 
were  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  this  young  man, 
alone  in  a great  city,  and  soon  to  tempt  the  dangers 
and  uncertainties  of  an  ocean-voyage,  can  only  be 
conjectured.  He  cherished,  at  this  time,  an  irresisti- 
ble longing  to  catch  a glimpse  of  the  Old  World; 
but  his  purpose  in  going  thither  was  not  like  that  of 
an  ordinary  tourist,  who  feels  himself  in  need  of  a 


Longfellow’s  first  visit  to  Europe.  109 


change  of  scene,  and  of  a relaxation  from  his  cares 
of  business,  but  was  that  of  the  scholar,  who,  having 
a fixed  project  in  view,  now  seeks  to  take  the  first 
step  towards  its  accomplishment.  Longfellow  was 
about  to  enter  upon  a course  of  philological  study ; 
and  he  was  to  pursue  this  course,  not  out  of  text- 
books,— wliich  did  not  then  exist,  and  which,  though 
they  exist  now,  are  but  poor  auxiliaries  to  an  earnest 
student,  — but  by  seeing  European  society  in  all  its 
forms,  by  conversing  with  men  of  all  characters,  and 
representatives  of  all  professions,  by  investigating 
institutions  and  laws,  and  by  acquainting  himself 
with  courts  and  parliaments.  He  craved  the  faculty 
of  reading  and  speaking  foreign  languages,  and 
sought  the  opportunity  of  learning  them,  not  merely 
from  the  drill  of  professional  teachers,  but  as  well 
from  the  lips  of  those  whose  words,  written  or  spoken, 
had  tauglit  them. 

Ocean-travel,  a half-century  ago,  differed  much 
from  what  it  is  at  the  present  day.  The  great 
steamship-lines  were,  as  yet,  unthought  of;  and  the 
journey  to  Europe  occupied  nearly  thrice  the  amount 
of  time  that  it  does  now.  Such  a luxury  as  a cheap 
excursion,  which  has  become  so  distinguished  a fea- 
ture of  modern  travel,  was  then  counted  among  the 
impossibilities.  Indeed,  no  one  ever  thought  of 
going  to  Europe  in  those  days,  unless  he  had  a defi- 
nite object  in  view ; or  except  he  was  a merchant 
having  foreign  connections  in  his  business ; or  a 
scholar  bound  for  a German  university  to  complete 
his  studies  before  entering  on  a professorship ; or  a 
son  of  wealthy  parents,  who  was  now  about  to  begin 


110 


HENIiY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


a life  of  elegant  leisure.  No  passenger  steamer  had 
yet  crossed  the  thousand  leagues  of  watery  waste 
that  divide  the  two  continents ; and  whoever  made 
the  journey  must  needs  have  sailed  on  board  some 
packet-ship,  and  be  many  days  at  sea.  But  this  was 
no  discomfiture  to  an  earnest  student  like  Longfel- 
low. He  had  no  fear  of  the  ocean:  from  his  earliest 
years  he  had  been  charmed  by  its  grandeur  and  its 
majest}*. 

In  May,  1826,  the  ship  sailed  from  New  York 
with  eleven  passengers  aboard,  of  which  Longfellow 
was  one,  and  the  youngest.  It  was  a packet-ship, 
bound  for  Havre,  France.  She  was  towed  down  the 
harbor  a short  distance,  and  then  a favoring  breeze 
wafted  her  gayly  along  her  course.  The  wind  con- 
tinued to  be  fair  and  strong ; and  the  voyage  was 
pleasant,  void  of  episodes,  and  as  rapid  as  such  a 
voyage  could  have  been  at  this  period.  By  the  1st 
of  June,  Havre  was  reached;  and  there,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  Longfellow  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  antiquity.  Having  been  dismissed  from 
the  custom-house,  and  spent  a few  days  in  port, 
Longfellow  now  prepared  to  begin  his  first  series  of 
wanderings  on  the  Continent.  His  route  lay  through 
the  beautiful  province  of  Normandy ; and  the  road 
leading  from  Havre  to  Rouen,  his  next  objective 
point,  was  through  a level,  champaign  country.  His 
own  words  furnish  the  best  description  of  what  he 
saw  and  experienced. 

“ Every  thing,'’  he  says,  “ wore  an  air  of  freshness 
and  novelty,  which  pleased  my  eye,  and  kept  my 
fancy  constantly  busy.  Life  was  like  a dream.  It 


Longfellow's  first  visit  to  Europe.  Ill 


was  a luxury  to  breathe  again  the  free  air,  after 
having  been  so  long  cooped  up  at  sea ; and,  like  a 
long-imprisoned  bird  let  loose  from  its  cage,  my  im- 
agination revelled  in  the  freshness  and  sunshine  of 
the  morning  landscape. 

“ On  every  side,  valley  and  hill  were  covered 
with  a carpet  of  soft  velvet  green.  Tlie  birds  were 
singing  merrily  in  the  trees ; and  the  landscape  wore 
that  look  of  gayety  so  well  described  in  the  quaint 
language  of  an  old  romance,  making  the  ‘sad,  pensive, 
and  aching  heart  to  rejoice,  and  to  throw  off  mourn- 
ing and  sadness.’  Here  and  there  a cluster  of  chest- 
nut-trees shaded  a thatched-roofed  cottage  ; and  little 
patclies  of  vineyard  were  scattered  on  tlie  slope  of 
the  hills,  mingling  their  delicate  green  with  the  deep 
hues  of  the  early  summer-grain.  The  whole  land- 
scape had  a fresh,  breezy  look.  It  was  not  hedged 
in  from  the  highways,  but  lay  open  to  the  eye  of  the 
traveller,  and  seemed  to  welcome  him  with  open 
arms.  I felt  less  a stranger  in  the  land  ; and  as  my 
eye  traced  the  dusty  road  winding  along  through  a 
rich,  cultivated  country,  and  .skirted  on  either  side 
witli  blossomed  fruit-trees,  and  occasionally  caught 
glimpses  of  a little  farmhouse  resting  in  a green  hol- 
low', and  lapped  in  the  bosom  of  plenty,  I felt  that  I 
was  in  a prosperous,  hospitable,  and  happy  land. 

“ I had  taken  my  seat  on  top  of  the  diligence,  in 
order  to  have  a better  view  of  the  country.  It  was 
one  of  those  ponderous  vehicles  which  totter  slowly 
along  the  paved  roads  of  France,  laboring  beneath  a 
mountain  of  trunks  and  bales  of  all  descriptions, 
and,  like  the  Trojan  horse,  bore  a groaning  multi- 


112 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


tilde  witliiii  It.  It  was  a curious  and  cumbersome 
macliine,  resembling  the  bodies  of  tliree  coaclies 
placed  upon  one  carriage,  with  a cabriolet  on  top 
for  outside  passengers.  On  the  panels  of  each  door 
were  painted  tlie  fleurs-de-Us  of  France ; and  upon 
the  side  of  the  coach  emblazoned,  in  golden  charac- 
ters, ‘ Exploitation  Generate  des  Measageries  lioyales 
des  Diligences  pour  le  Havre^  Rouen.,  et  Paris." 

“It  would  be  useless  to  describe  the  motley 
groups  that  filled  the  four  quarters  of  this  little 
world.  There  was  the  dusty  tradesman,  with  green 
coat  and  cotton  umbrella ; the  sallow  invalid,  in 
skull-cap  and  cloth  shoes ; the  priest  in  his  cassock ; 
the  peasant  in  his  frock ; and  a whole  family  of 
squalling  children.  My  fellow-travellers  on  top 
were  a gay  subaltern,  with  fierce  mustache,  and  a 
nut-brown  village  beauty  of  sweet  sixteen.  The 
subaltern  wore  a military  undress,  and  a little  blue 
cloth  cap  in  the  shape  of  a cow-bell,  trimmed  smartly 
with  silver  lace,  and  cocked  on  one  side  of  his  head. 
The  brunette  was  decked  out  with  a staid  white 
Norman  cap,  nicely  starched  and  plaited,  and  nearly 
three  feet  high,  a rosary  and  cross  about  her  neck,  a 
linsey-woolsey  gown,  and  Avooden  shoes. 

“ The  personage  who  seemed  to  rule  this  little 
world  with  absolute  sway  was  a short,  pursy  man, 
with  a busy,  self-satisfied  air,  and  the  sonorous  title 
of  Monsieur  le  Conducteur . As  insignia  of  office,  he 
wore  a little  round  fur  cap  and  fur-trimmed  jacket, 
and  carried  in  his  hand  a small  leathern  portfolio, 
containing  his  way-bill.  He  sat  with  us  on  top  of 
the  diligence,  and  with  comic  gravity  issued  his  man- 


LONGFELLOW'S  FIKST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  113 


dates  to  the  postilion  below,  like  some  petty  monarch 
speaking  from  his  throne.  In  every  dingy  village  we 
thundered  through,  he  had  a thousand  commissions 
to  execute  and  to  receive ; a package  to  throw  out 
on  this  side,  and  another  to  take  in  on  that ; a whis- 
per for  the  landlady  at  the  inn ; a love-letter  and  a 
kiss  for  her  daughter;  and  a wink  or  a snap  of  his 
fingers  for  the  chambermaid  at  the  window.  Then, 
there  were  so  many  questions  to  be  asked  and  an- 
swered while  changing  horses  I Everybody  had  a 
word  to  say.  It  was  ‘ T/cn.siewr  le  Conducteur  ! ' 

‘ Moimeur  le  Conducteur  1 ' there.  He  was  in  com- 
plete bustle  ; till  at  length  crying,  ‘ En  route ! ’ he 
ascended  the  dizzy  height,  and  we  lumbered  away  iu 
a cloud  of  dust. 

“ But  what  most  attracted  my  attention  was  the 
grotesque  appearance  of  the  postilion  and  the  horses. 
He  was  a comical-looking  little  fellow,  already  past 
the  heyday  of  life,  with  a thin,  sharp  countenance,  to 
which  the  smoke  of  tobacco  and  the  fumes  of  wine 
had  given  the  dusty  look  of  parchment.  He  was 
equipped  in  a short  jacket  of  purple  velvet,  set  off 
with  a red  collar,  and  adorned  with  silken  cord. 
Tight  breeches  of  bright  yellow  leather  arrayed  his 
pipe-stem  legs,  which  were  swallowed  up  in  a huge 
pair  of  wooden  boots,  iron-fastened,  and  armed  with 
long,  rattling  spurs.  His  shirt-collar  was  of  vast 
dimensions ; and  between  it  and  the  broad  brim  of 
his  high,  bell-crowned,  varnished  hat,  projected  an 
eel-skin  cue,  with  a little  tuft  of  frizzled  hair,  like 
a powder-puff,  at  the  end,  bobbing  up  and  down  with 
the  motion  of  the  rider,  and  scattering  a white  cloud 
around  him. 


114 


IlKNKY  WADSWORTH  r.ONGFELLOW. 


“Tlie  liorses  wliioli  drew  Die  diligence  were  liar- 
nessed  to  it  witli  ropes  and  leather  thongs  in  the 
most  nncoutli  manner  imaginal)le.  Tliey  were  five 
in  number,  black,  white,  and  gray,  — as  various  in 
size  as  in  color.  Their  tails  were  braided,  and  tied 
up  with  wisps  of  straw ; and  when  the  postilion 
mounted,  and  cracked  his  heavy  whip,  off  they 
started,  one  pulling  this  way,  another  that,  — one  on 
the  gallop,  another  trotting,  and  the  rest  dragging 
along  at  a scrambling  pace  between  a trot  and  a 
Walk.  No  sooner  did  the  vehicle  get  comfortably  in 
motion,  than  the  postilion,  throwing  the  reins  u})on 
his  horse’s  neck,  and  drawing  a flint  and  steel  from 
one  pocket,  and  a short-stemmed  pipe  from  another, 
leisurely  struck  fire,  and  began  to  smoke.  Ever  and 
anon  some  part  of  the  rope-harness  would  give  way. 
Monsieur  le  Conducteur  from  on  high  would  thunder 
forth  an  oath  or  two ; a head  would  be  popped  out 
at  every  window ; half  a dozen  voices  exclaim  at 
once,  ‘What’s  the  matter?’  and  the  postilion,  apos- 
trophizing the  Diahle  as  usual,  would  thrust  his  long 
whip  into  the  leg  of  his  boot,  leisurely  dismount,  and, 
drawing  a handful  of  packthread  from  his  pocket, 
quietly  set  himself  to  mend  matters  in  the  best  way 
possible. 

“ In  this  manner  we  toiled  slowly  along  the  dusty 
highway.  Occasionally  the  scene  was  enlivened  by 
a group  of  peasants,  driving  before  them  a little  ass 
laden  with  vegetables  for  a neighboring  market. 
Then  we  would  pass  a solitary  shepherd  sitting  by 
the  roadside,  with  a shaggy  dog  at  his  feet,  guarding 
his  flock,  and  making  his  scanty  meal  on  the  contents 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  115 


of  his  Avallet ; or  perchance  a little  peasant-girl  in 
wooden  shoes,  leading  a cow  by  a cord  attached  to 
her  horns,  to  browse  along  the  side  of  the  ditch. 
Then  we  would  all  alight  to  ascend  some  formidable 
hill  on  foot,  and  be  escorted  up  by  a clamorous  group 
of  sturdy  mendicants,  annoyed  by  the  ceaseless  im- 
portunity of  worthless  beggary,  or  moved  to  pity  by 
the  palsied  limbs  of  the  aged,  and  the  sightless  eye- 
balls of  the  blind. 

“ Occasionally,  too,  the  postilion  drew  up  in  front 
of  a dingy  little  cabaret,  completely  overshadowed 
by  wide-spreading  trees.  A lusty  grape-vine  clam- 
bered up  beside  the  door;  and  a pine-bough  was 
thrust  out  from  a hole  in  the  wall,  by  way  of 
tavern-bush.  Upon  the  front  of  the  house  was  gen- 
erally inscribed  in  large  black  letters,  ‘ Ici  on  donne 

A LOIRE  ET  A MANGER  ; ON  LOGE  A PIED  ET  A 
CHEVAL,’  — a sign  which  may  be  thus  paraphrased, 
‘ Good  entertainment  for  man  and  beast,’  but  which 
was  once  translated  by  a foreigner,  • Here  they  give  to 
eat  and  drink  : they  lodge  on  foot  and  on  horseback  ! ’ 

“ Thus  one  object  of  curiosity  succeeded  another  ; 
hill,  valley,  stream,  and  woodland  flitted  by  me  like 
the  shifting  scenes  of  a magic-lantern  ; and  one  train 
of  thought  gave  place  to  another,  — till  at  length,  in 
the  after  part  of  the  day,  we  entered  the  broad  and 
shady  avenue  of  fine  old  trees  which  leads  to  the 
western  gate  of  Rouen,  and  a few  moments  after- 
ward were  lost  in  the  crowds  and  confusion  of  its 
narrow  streets.” 

On  arriving  at  Rouen,  next  to  Paris  the  most  in- 
teresting city  of  France,  where  nothing  but  the  liv- 


116 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


iiig  countenances  and  the  mercliandise  displayed 
in  the  shop-windows  remind  one  of  modern  times, 
Longfellow  was  led  to  seek  lodgings  at  the  Lion 
d'Or,  — the  Golden  Lion  Inn.,  lie  says, — 

“ The  hostess  of  the  Golden  Lion  received  me 
witli  a courtesy  and  a smile,  rang  the  house-bell  for 
a servant,  and  told  him  to  take  the  gentleman’s 
things  to  No.  35.  I followed  him  up  stairs.  One, 
two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven ! Seven  stories 
high,  by  Our  Lady!  I counted  them  every  one: 
and,  when  I went  down  to  remonstrate,  I counted 
tliem  again ; so  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  a 
mistake.  When  I asked  for  a lower  room,  the  host- 
ess told  me  the  house  was  full ; and,  when  I spoke  of 
going  to  another  hotel,  she  said  she  should  be  so  very 
sorry,  so  desolee^  to  have  monsieur  leave  her,  that  I 
marched  up  again  to  No.  35. 

“ After  finding  all  the  fault  I could  with  the 
chamber,  I ended,  as  is  generally  the  case  with  most 
men  on  such  occasions,  by  being  very  well  pleased 
with  it.  The  only  thing  I could  possibly  complain 
of  was  my  being  lodged  in  the  seventh  story,  and  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  a gentleman  who  was 
learning  to  play  the  French  horn.  But,  to  remuner- 
ate me  for  these  disadvantages,  my  window  looked 
down  into  a market-place,  and  gave  me  a distant 
view  of  the  towers  of  the  cathedral,  and  the  ruins 
of  the  church  and  abbey  of  St.  Ouen. 

“ When  I had  fully  prepared  myself  for  a ramble 
through  the  city,  it  was  already  sunset;  and,  after 
the  heat  and  dust  of  the  day,  the  freshness  of  the 
long  evening  twilight  was  delightful.  When  I enter 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  117 


ii  new  city  I cannot  rest  till  I have  satisfied  the  first 
cravings  of  curiosity  by  rambling  through  its  streets. 
Nor  can  I endure  a cicerone  with  his  eternal  ‘ This 
way,  sir.’  I never  desire  to  be  led  directly  to  an 
object  worthy  of  a traveller’s  notice,  but  prefer  a 
thousand  times  to  find  my  own  way,  and  come  upon 
it  by  surprise.  This  was  particularly  the  case  at 
Rouen.  It  was  the  ^rst  European  city  of  importance 
that  I visited.  There  was  an  air  of  antiquity  about 
the  whole  city  that  breathed  of  the  Middle  Ages ; 
and  so  strong  and  delightful  was  the  impression  that 
it  made  upon  my  youthful  imagination,  that  nothing 
which  I afterward  saw  could  either  equal  or  efface  it, 
I have  since  passed  through  that  city,  but  I did  not 
stop.  I was  unwilling  to  destroy  an  impression 
which,  even  at  this  distant  day,  is  as  fresh  upon  my 
mind  as  if  it  were  of  yesterday. 

“ With  these  deliglitful  feelings  I rambled  on  from 
street  to  street;  till  at  length,  after  tlireading  a 
narrow  alley,  I unexpectedly  came  out  in  front  of 
the  magnificent  cathedral.  If  it  had  suddenly  risen 
from  the  earth,  the  effect  could  not  have  been  more 
powerful  and  instantaneous.  It  completely  over- 
whelmed my  imagination  ; and  I stood  for  a long 
time  motionless,  gazing  entranced  upon  the  stu- 
pendous edifice.  I had  before  seen  no  specimen  of 
Gothic  architecture ; and  the  massive  towers  before 
me,  the  lofty  windows  of  stained  glass,  the  low  por- 
tal, with  its  receding  arches  and  rude  statues,  all 
produced  upon  my  un travelled  mind  an  impression 
of  awful  sublimity.  When  I entered  tlie  church,  tlie 
impression  was  still  more  deep  and  solemn.  It  was 


118 


HEx\RY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


the  lioiir  of  vespers.  The  religious  twilight  of  the 
place,  the  lamps  that  burned  on  the  distant  altar,  the 
kneeling  crowd,  the  tinkling  bell,  and  the  chant  of 
the  evening  service  that  rolled  along  the  vaulted 
roof  in  broken  and  repeated  echoes,  filled  me  with 
new  and  intense  emotions.  When  I gazed  on  the 
stupendous  architecture  of  the  church;  the  huge 
columns  that  the  eye  followed  up  till  they  were 
lost  in  the  gathering  dusk  of  the  arches  above ; the 
long  and  shadowy  aisles ; the  statues  of  saints  and 
martyrs  that  stood  in  every  recess ; the  figures  of 
armed  knights  upon  the  tombs ; the  uncertain  light 
that  stole  through  the  painted  Avindows  of  each  little 
chapel ; and  the  form  of  the  cowled  and  solitary 
monk,  kneeling  at  the  shrine  of  his  favorite  saint, 
or  passing  between  the  lofty  columns  of  the  church, 
— all  I had  read  of,  but  had  not  seen,  — I was 
transported  back  to  the  Dark  Ages,  and  felt  as  I 
can  never  feel  again. 

“ On  the  following  day  I visited  the  remains  of 
an  old  palace  built  by  Edward  the  Third,  now  occu- 
pied as  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  the  ruins  of  the 
church  and  monastery  of  St.  Antoine.  I saw  the  hole 
in  the  tower  where  the  ponderous  bell  of  the  abbey 
fell  through,  and  took  a peep  at  the  curious  illumi- 
nated manuscript  of  Daniel  d’ An  bonne  in  the  public 
library.  The  remainder  of  the  morning  was  spent  in 
visiting  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  abbey  of  St.  Ouen, 
which  is  now  transformed  into  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
and  in  strolling  through  its  beautiful  gardens,  dream- 
ing of  the  present  and  the  past,  and  given  up  to  ‘ a 
melancholy  of  my  own.’ 


LONGFELLOW'S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  119 


“ At  tlie  table  d'hote  of  the  . Golden  Lion  I fell 
into  conversation  with  an  elderly  gentleman,  who 
proved  to  be  a great  antiquarian,  and  thoroughly 
read  in  all  the  forgotten  lore  of  the  city.  As  our 
tastes  were  somewhat  similar,  we  were  soon  upon 
very  friendly  terms ; and  after  dinner  we  strolled 
out  to  visit  some  remarkable  localities,  and  took 
the  gloria  together  at  the  Chevalier  Bayard. 

“ When  we  returned  to  the  Golden  Lion,  he  en- 
tertained me  with  many  curious*  stories  of  the  spots 
we  had  been  visiting.” 

Longfellow  passed  the  midsummer  months  at  the 
village  of  Auteuil,  which  he  thought  “ the  pleasant- 
est of  the  many  little  villages  that  lie  in  the  immedi- 
ate vicinity  of  the  metropolis.”  He  thus  recounts 
his  impressions  of  the  place  : — 

“ It  is  situated  on  the  outskirts  of  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  a wood  of  some  extent,  in  whose  green 
alleys  the  dusty  cit  enjoys  the  luxury  of  an  evening* 
drive,  and  gentlemen  meet  in  tlie  morning  to  give 
each  other  satisfaction  in  the  usual  Avay.  A cross- 
road, skirted  with  green  hedge-rows,  and  overshad- 
owed by  tall  poplars,  leads  you  from  the  noisy 
highway  of  St.  Cloud  and  Versailles  to  the  still  re- 
tirement of  this  suburban  hamlet.  On  either  side 
the  eye  discovers  old  chateaux  amid  the  trees,  and 
green  parks,  whose  pleasant  shades  recall  a thousand 
images  of  La  Fontaine,  Racine,  and  Moliere ; and 
on  an  eminence  overlooking  the  windings  of  the 
Seine,  and  giving  a beautiful  though  distant  view  of 
the  domes  and  gardens  of  Paris,  rises  the  village  of 
Passy,  long  the  residence  of  our  countrymen  Frank- 
lin and  Count  Rumford. 


120 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


“ I took  up  my  abode  at  a maison  de  sante ; not 
that  I was  a valetudinarian,  but  because  I there  found 
some  one  to  whom  I could  whisper,  ‘ How  sweet  is 
solitude ! ’ Behind  the  house  was  a garden  filled 
with  fruit-trees  of  various  kinds,  and  adorned  with 
gravel-walks,  and  green  arbors  furnished  with  tables, 
and  rustic  seats  for  the  repose  of  tlie  invalid  and 
the  sleep  of  the  indolent.  Here  the  inmates  of  the 
rural  hospital  met  on  common  ground,  to  breathe 
tlie  invigorating  air  of  morning,  and  while  away  the 
lazy  noon  or  vacant  evening  with  tales  of  the  sick- 
chamber. 

“ The  establishment  was  kept  by  Dr.  Dentdelion, 
a dried-up  little  fellow,  with  red  hair,  a sandy  com- 
plexion, and  the  physiognomy  and  gestures  of  a 
monkey.  His  character  corresponded  to  his  outward 
lineaments,  for  he  had  all  a monkey's  busy  and 
curious  impertinence.  Nevertheless,  such  as  he  was, 
the  village  H^sculapius  strutted  forth  the  little  great 
man  of  Auteuil.  The  peasants  looked  up  to  him  as 
to  an  oracle : he  contrived  to  be  at  the  head  of 
every  thing,  and  laid  claim  to  the  credit  of  all  pub- 
lic improvements  in  the  village.  In  fine,  he  was  a 
great  man  on  a small  scale. 

‘Ht  was  within  the  dingy  walls  of  this  little  poten- 
tate's imperial  palace  that  I chose  my  country  resi- 
dence. I had  a chamber  in  the  second  story,  with  a 
solitary  window  which  looked  upon  the  street,  and 
gave  me  a peep  into  a neighbor’s  garden.  This  1 
esteemed  a great  privilege ; for,  as  a stranger,  I de- 
sired to  see  all  that  was  passing  out-of-doors:  and 
the  sight  of  green  trees,  though  growing  on  anoth- 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  121 


er*s  ground,  is  always  a blessing.  Within  doors, — 
had  1 been  disposed  to  quarrel  with  my  household 
gods,  — I might  have  taken  some  objection  to  my 
neighborhocd  ; for  on  one  side  of  me  was  a consump- 
tive patient,  whose  graveyard-cough  drove  me  from 
my  chamber  by  day  ; and  on  the  other  an  English 
colonel,  whose  incoherent  ravings,  in  the  delirium 
of  a high  and  obstinate  fever,  often  broke  my  slum- 
bers by  night.  But  I found  ample  amends  for  these 
inconveniences  in  the  society  of  those  who  were  so 
little  indisposed  as  hardly  to  know  what  ailed  them, 
and  those  who,  in  health  themselves,  had  accompa- 
nied a friend  or  relative  to  the  shades  of  the  coun- 
try in  pursuit  of  it. 

‘‘It  was,  however,  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  that  I 
looked  for  my  principal  recreation.  There  I took 
my  solitary  walk  morning  and  evening,  or,  mounted 
on  a little  mouse-colored  donkey,  paced  demurely 
along  the  woodland  pathway.  I had  a favorite  seat 
beneath  the  shadow  of  a venerable  oak,  one  of  the 
few  hoary  patriarchs  of  the  wood  which  had  survived 
the  bivouacs  of  the  allied  armies.  It  stood  upon 
the  brink  of  a little  glassy  pool,  whose  tranquil 
bosom  was  the  image  of  a quiet  and  secluded  life, 
and  stretched  its  parental  arms  over  a rustic  bench 
that  had  been  constructed  beneath  it  for  the  accom- 
modation of  the  foot-traveller,  or,  perchance,  some 
idle  dreamer  like  myself.  It  seemed  to  look  round 
with  a lordly  air  upon  its  old  hereditary  domain, 
whose  stillness  was  no  longer  broken  by  the  tap  of  the 
martial  drum,  nor  the  discordant  clang  of  arms;  and, 
as  the  breeze  whispered  among  its  branches,  it  seemed 


122 


llENUV  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


to  be  liolding-  friendly  colloquies  with  a few  of  its 
venerable  contemporaries,  who  stooped  from  the  op- 
posite bank  of  the  pool,  nodding  gravely  now  and 
then,  and  gazing  at  themselves,  with  a sigh,  in  the 
mirror  below. 

“ In  this  quiet  haunt  of  rural  repose,  I used  to  sit 
at  noon,  hear  the  birds  sing,  and  ‘possess  myself  in 
much  quietness.’  Just  at  my  feet  lay  the  little  sil- 
ver pool,  with  the  sky  and  the  woods  painted  in  its 
mimic  vault,  and  occasionally  the  image  of  a bird, 
or  the  soft,  watery  outline  of  a cloud,  floating  silently 
through  its  sunny  hollows.  The  water-lily  spread 
its  broad,  green  leaves  on  the  surface,  and  rocked  to 
sleep  a little  world  of  insect  life  in  its  golden  cradle. 
Sometimes  a wandering  leaf  came  floating  and  wa- 
vering downward,  and  settled  on  the  water ; then  a 
vagabond  insect  would  break  the  smooth  surface 
into  a thousand  ripples,  or  a green-coated  frog  slide 
from  the  bank,  and,  plump ! dive  headlong  to  the 
bottom. 

“ I entered,  too,  with  some  enthusiasm,  into  all  the 
rural  sports  and  merry  makes  of  the  village.  The 
holidays  were  so  many  little  eras  of  mirth  and  good 
feeling  ; for  the  French  have  that  happy  and  sunshiny 
temperament  — that  merrj^-go-mad  character  — which 
renders  all  their  social  meetings  scenes  of  enjoyment 
and  hilarity.  I made  it  a point  never  to  miss  any  of 
the  fete^-champetres,  or  rural  dances,  at  the  wood  of 
Boulogne ; though  I confess  it  sometimes  gave  me 
a momentary  uneasiness  to  see  my  rustic  throne 
beneath  the  oak  usurped  by  a noisy  group  of  girls, 
the  sileiice  and  decorum  of  my  imaginary  realm 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  123 


broken  by  music  and  laughter,  and,  in  a word,  my 
whole  kingdom  turned  topsy-turvy  with  romping, 
fiddling,  and  dancing.  But  I am  naturally,  and 
from  principle  too,  a lover  of  all  those  innocent 
amusements  which  cheer  the  laborer’s  toil,  and,  as  it 
were,  put  their  shoulders  to  the  wheel  of  life,  and 
help  the  poor  man  along  with  his  load  of  cares. 
Hence  I saw,  with  no  small  delight,  the  rustic  swain 
astride  the  wooden  horse  of  the  carrousel^  and  the 
village  maiden  whirling  round  and  round  in  its  dizzy 
car ; or  took  my  stand  on  a rising  ground  that  over- 
looked the  dance,  an  idle  spectator  in  a busy  throng. 
It  was  just  where  the  village  touched  the  outward 
border  of  the  wood.  There  a little  area  had  been 
levelled  beneath  the  trees,  surrounded  by  a painted 
rail,  with  a row  of  benches  inside.  The  music  was 
placed  in  a slight  balcony,  built  around  the  trunk  of 
a large  tree  in  the  centre ; and  the  lamps,  hanging 
from  the  branches  above,  gave  a gay,  fantastic,  and 
fairy  look  to  the  scene.  How  often  in  such  moments 
did  I recall  the  lines  of  Goldsmith,  describing  those- 
‘kinder  skies’  beneath  which  ‘France  displays  her 
bright  domain,’  and  feel  how  true  and  masterly  the.- 
sketch,  — 

“ ‘ Alike  all  ages : dames  of  ancient  days 

Have  led  their  children  through  the  mirthful  maze ; 

And  the  gray  grandsire,  skilled  in  gestic  lore, 

Has  frisked  beneath  the  burden  of  threescore.’ 

“ Nor  must  I forget  to  mention  the  fete  patronale^ 
a kind  of  annual  fair,  which  is  held  at  midsummer, 
in  honor  of  the  patron  saint  of  Auteuil.  Then  the 


124 


HKNRY  WADSWOMTH  LOXGFP:lLOW. 


princij)al  street  of  the  village  is  tilled  with  booths  of 
every  description;  strolling  players,  and  rope-dancers 
and  jugglers,  and  giants  and  dwarfs,  and  wild  beasts, 
and  all  kinds  of  wonderful  shows,  excite  the  gaping 
curiosity  of  the  throng;  and  in  dust,  crowds,  and 
confusion  the  village  rivals  the  capital  itself.  Then 
the  goodly  dames  of  Passy  descend  into  the  village 
of  Auteuil;  then  the  brewers  of  Pillancourt  and 
the  tanners  of  Sevres  dance  lustily  under  the  green- 
wood tree  ; and  then,  too,  the  sturdy  fishmongers  of 
]A*etigny  and  Saint -Yon  regale  their  wives  with  an 
airing  in  a swing,  and  their  customers  with  eels  and 
crawfish ; or,  as  is  more  poetically  set  forth  in  an  old 
Christmas  carol,  — 


“ ‘ Vous  eussiez  vu  venir 

Tons  ceux  de  Saint  -Yon, 

Et  ceux  de  Bretigny, 

Apportant  du  poisson. 

Les  barbeaux  et  gardens, 

Anguilles  et  carpettes, 

Etaient  a bon  marche, 

Croyez, 

A cette  journee-la. 

La,  la, 

Et  aussi  les  perchettes.’ 

“ I found  another  source  of  amusement  in  observ- 
ing the  various  personages  that  daily  passed  and 
repassed  beneath  my  window.  The  character  which 
most  of  all  arrested  my  attention  was  a poor,  blind 
fiddler,  whom  I first  saw  chanting  a doleful  ballad 
at  the  door  of  a small  tavern,  near  the  gate  of  the 
village.  He  wore  a brown  coat,  out  at  elbows,  the 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  125 


fragment  of  a velvet  waistcoat,  and  a pair  of  tight 
nankeen  trousers,  so  short  as  hardly  to  reach  below 
his  calves.  A little  foraging-cap,  that  had  long  since 
seen  its  best  days,  set  off  an  open,  good-humored 
countenance,  bronzed  by  sun  and  wind.  He  was 
led  about  by  a brisk,  middle-aged  woman,  in  straw 
hat  and  wooden  shoes ; and  a little  barefooted  boy, 
with  clear  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair,  held  a tattered 
hat  in  his  hand,  in  which  he  collected  eleemosynary 
sous.  The  old  fellow  had  a favorite  song,  which  he 
used  to  sing  with  great  glee  to  a merry,  joyous  air, 
the  burden  of  which  ran,  ‘‘  Chantoiis  V amour  et  Ic 
plaisir!''  I often  thought  it  would  have  been  a 
good  lesson  for  the  crabbed  and  discontented  rich 
man  to  have  heard  this  remnant  of  humanity,  poor, 
blind,  and  in  rags,  and  dependent  upon  casual  charity 
for  his  daily  bread,  singing,  in  so  cheerful  a voice, 
the  charms  of  existence,  and,  as  it  were,  fiddling  life 
away  to  a merry  tune. 

“ I was,  one  morning,  called  to  my  window  by  the 
sound  of  rustic  music.  I looked  out,  and  beheld  a 
procession  of  villagers  advancing  along  the  road, 
attired  in  gay  dresses,  and  marching  merrily  on  in 
the  direction  of  the  church.  I soon  perceived  that 
it  was  a marriage  festival.  The  procession  was  led 
by  a long  orang-outang  of  a man,  in  a straw  hat 
and  white  dimity  bob-coat,  playing  on  an  asthmatic 
clarinet,  from  which  he  contrived  to  blow  unearthly 
sounds,  ever  and  anon  squeaking  off  at  right  angles 
from  his  tune,  and  winding  up  with  a grand  flourish 
on  the  guttural  notes.  Behind  him,  led  by  his  little 
boy,  came  the  blind  fiddler,  his  honest  features  glow- 


126 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFl^LLOW. 


ing  with  all  the  hilarity  of  a rustic  bridal,  and,  as 
he  stumbled  along,  sawing  away  upon  his  fiddle  till 
he  made  all  crack  again.  Then  came  the  happy 
bridegroom,  dressed  in  his  Sunday  suit  of  blue,  with 
a large  nosegay  in  his  button-hole ; and  close  beside 
him  his  blushing  bride,  with  downcast  eyes,  clad  in 
a white  robe  and  slippers,  and  wearing  a wreath  of 
white  roses  in  her  hair.  The  friends  and  relatives 
brought  up  the  procession  ; and  a troop  of  village 
urchins  came  shouting  along  in  the  rear,  scrambling 
among  themselves  for  the  largess  of  sous  and  sugar- 
plums that  now  and  then  issued  in  large  handfuls 
from  the  pockets  of  a lean  man  in  black,  who  seemed 
to  officiate  as  master  of  ceremonies  on  the  occasion. 
I gazed  on  the  procession  till  it  was  out  of  sight ; 
and,  when  the  last  wheeze  of  the  clarinet  died  upon 
my  ear,  I could  not  help  thinking  how  happy  were 
they  who  were  thus  to  dwell  together  in  the  peaceful 
bosom  of  their  native  village,  far  from  the  gilded 
misery  and  the  pestilential  vices  of  the  town. 

‘‘  On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  I was  sitting 
by  the  window,  enjoying  the  freshness  of  the  air  and 
the  beauty  and  stillness  of  the  hour,  when  I heard 
the  distant  and  solemn  hymn  of  the  Catholic  burial- 
service,  at  first  so  faint  and  indistinct  that  it  seemed 
an  illusion.  It  rose  mournfully  on  the  hush  of  even- 
ing, died  gradually  away,  then  ceased.  Then  it  rose 
again,  nearer  and  more  distinct ; and  soon  after  a 
funeral  procession  appeared,  and  passed  directly  be- 
neath my  window.  It  was  led  by  a priest,  bearing 
the  banner  of  the  church,  and  followed  by  two  boys, 
holding  long  flambeaux  in  their  hands.  Next  came 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  12T 


a double  file  of  priests  in  their  surplices,  with  a mis- 
sal ill  one  hand  and  a lighted  wax  taper  in  the  other, 
chanting  the  funeral  dirge  at  intervals,  now  paus- 
ing, and  then  again  taking  up  the  mournful  burden 
of  their  lamentation,  accompanied  by  others,  who 
played  upon  a rude  kind  of  bassoon,  with  a dismal 
and  wailing  sound.  Then  followed  various  symbols 
of  the  church,  and  the  bier  borne  on  the  shoulders 
of  four  men.  The  coffin  was  covered  with  a velvet 
pall ; and  a chaplet  of  white  flowers  lay  upon  it,  indi- 
cating that  the  deceased  was  unmarried.  A few  of 
the  villagers  came  behind,  clad  in  mourning-robes, 
and  bearing  lighted  tapers.  The  procession  passed 
slowly  along  the  same  street  that,  in  the  morning, 
had  been  thronged  by  the  gay  bridal  company.  A 
melancholy  train  of  thought  forced  itself  home  upon 
my  mind.  The  joys  and  sorrows  of  this  world  are 
so  strikingly  mingled.  Our  mirth  and  grief  are 
brought  so  mournfully  in  contact.  We  laugh  while 
others  weep,  and  others  rejoice  when  we  are  sad. 
The  light  heart  and  the  heavy  walk  side  by  side, 
and  go  about  together.  Beneath  the  same  roof  are 
spread  the  wedding-feast  and  the  funeral-pall.  The 
bridal-song  mingles  with  the  burial-hymn.  One  goes 
to  the  marriage-bed,  another  to  the  grave ; and  all  is 
mutable,  uncertain,  and  transitory. 

“It  is  with  sensations  of  pure  delight  that  I recur 
to  the  brief  period  of  my  existence  wliich  was  passed 
in  the  peaceful  sliades  of  Auteuil.  There  is  one 
kind  of  wisdom  which  we  learn  from  the  world,  and 
another  kind  which  can  be  acquired  in  solitude  only. 
In  cities  we  study  those  around  us,  but  in  the  re- 


128 


HENRY  WADSWORTPI  LONGFELLOW. 


tirement  of  the  country  we  learn  to  know  ourselves. 
The  voice  within  us  is  more  distinctly  audible  in  the 
stillness  of  the  ])lace  ; and  the  gentler  affections  of 
our  nature  spring  up  more  freshly  in  its  tranquillity 
and  sunshine,  nurtured  by  the  healthy  principle 
which  we  inliale  with  the  pure  air,  and  invigorated 
by  tlie  genial  influences  whicli  descend  into  the 
heart  from  the  quiet  of  the  sylvan  solitude  around, 
and  the  soft  serenity  of  the  sky  above.” 

Longfellow  spent  nearly  a month  in  the  French 
capital ; and  in  October  he  resolved  to  make  a foot- 
excursion  along  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  from  Orleans 
to  Tours.  This  region  is  justly  called  the  garden  of 
France,  and  the  whole  valley  is  one  continued  vine- 
yard. But  I must  continue  the  narrative  in  the 
tourist’s  own  words  : — 

“ The  vintage  had  already  commenced.  The  peas- 
antry were  busy  in  the  fields ; the  song  that  cheered 
their  labor  was  on  the  breeze  ; and  the  heavy  wagon 
tottered  by,  laden  with  the  clusters  of  the  vine. 
Every  thing  around  me  wore  that  happy  look  which 
makes  the  heart  glad.  In  the  morning  1 arose  with 
the  lark,  and  at  night  I slept  where  sunset  overtook 
me.  The  healthy  exercise  of  foot-travelling,  tlie 
pure,  bracing  air  of  autumn,  and  the  cheerful  aspect 
of  the  whole  landscape  about  me,  gave  fresh  elasticity 
to  a mind  not  overburdened  with  care,  and  made  me 
forget,  not  only  the  fatigue  of  walking,  but  also  the 
consciousness  of  being  alone. 

“ My  first  day’s  journey  brought  me  at  evening 
to  a village,  whose  name  I have  forgotten,  situated 
about  eight  leagues  from  Orleans.  It  is  a small, 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  129 


obscure  hamlet,  not  mentioned  in  the  guide-book, 
and  stands  upon  the  precipitous  banks  of  a deep 
ravine,  through  which  a noisy  brook  leaps  down  to 
turn  the  ponderous  wheel  of  a thatch-roofed  mill. 
The  village-inn  stands  upon  the  highway,  but  the 
village  itself  is  not  visible  to  the  traveller  as  he 
passes.  It  is  completely  hidden  in  the  lap  of  a 
wooded  valley,  and  so  embowered  in  trees  that  not 
a roof  nor  a chimney  peeps  out  to  betray  its  hiding- 
place.  It  is  like  the  nest  of  a ground-swallow,  which 
the  passing  footstep  almost  treads  upon  ; and  yet  it 
is  not  seen.  I passed  by  without  suspecting  that  a 
village  was  near,  and  the  little  inn  had  a look  so 
uninviting  that  I did  not  even  enter  it. 

“After  proceeding  a mile  or  two  farther,  I per- 
ceived, upon  my  left,  a village-spire  rising  over  the 
vineyards.  Towards  this  I directed  my  footsteps ; 
but  it  seemed  to  recede  as  I advanced,  and  at  last 
(piite  disappeared.  It  was  evidently  maii}^  miles 
distant ; and,  as  the  path  I followed  descended  from 
the  highwa}^  it  had  gradually  siiidc  beneath  a swell 
of  the  vine-clad  landscape.  I now  found  myself  in 
the  midst  of  an  extensive  vineyard.  It  was  just 
sunset,  and  the  last  golden  rays  lingered  on  the  rich 
and  mellow  scenery  around  me.  Tlie  peasantry  were 
still  busy  at  their  task ; and  the  occasional  bark  of  a 
dog,  and  the  distant  sound  of  an  evening-bell,  gave 
fresh  romance  to  the  scene.  The  reality  of  many  a 
day-dream  of  childhood,  of  many  a poetic  revery  of 
youth,  was  before  me.  I stood  at  sunset  amid  the 
luxuriant  vineyards  of  France  ! 

“ The  first  person  I met  was  a poor  old  woman,  a 


130 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONO FELLOW. 


little  bowed  down  with  age,  gathering  grapes  into 
a large  basket.  She  was  dressed  like  tlie  poorest 
class  of  peasantry,  and  pursued  her  solitary  task 
alone,  heedless  of  the  cheerful  gossip  and  the  merry 
laugh  which  came  from  a band  of  more  youthful 
vintagers  at  a short  distance  from  her.  She  was  so 
intently  engaged  in  her  work,  that  she  did  not  per- 
ceive my  approach  until  I bade  her  good-evening. 
On  hearing  my  voice,  she  looked  up  from  her  labor, 
and  returned  the  salutation  ; and,  on  my  asking  her  if 
there  were  a tavern  or  a farmhouse  in  the  neighbor- 
hood where  I could  pass  the  night,  she  showed  me 
the  pathway  through  the  vineyard  that  led  to  the 
village,  and  then  added,  with  a look  of  curiosity,  — 

“ ‘ You  must  be  a stranger,  sir,  in  these  parts.’ 

“ ‘ Yes  : my  home  is  very  far  from  liere.’ 

“ ‘ How  far  ? ’ 

More  than  a thousand  leagues.’ 

“ The  old  woman  looked  incredulous. 

“ ‘ I came  from  a distant  land  beyond  the  sea.’ 

“ ‘ More  than  a thousand  leagues ! ’ at  length  re- 
peated she  ; ‘ and  why  have  you  come  so  far  from 
home  ? ’ 

“ ‘ To  travel,  — to  see  how  you  live  in  this  coun- 
try.’ 

“ * Have  you  no  relations  in  your  own  ? ’ 

“‘Yes:  I have  both  brothers  and  sisters,  a father 
and  ’ — 

“ ‘ And  a mother  ? ’ 

“ ‘ Thank  Heaven,  I have  ! ’ 

“ ‘ And  did  you  leave  her  ? ’ 

“ Here  the  old  woman  gave  me  a piercing  look  of 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  131 


reproof,  shook  her  head  mournfully,  and,  with  a deep 
sigh,  as  if  some  painful  recollections  had  been  awak- 
ened in  her  bosom,  turned  again  to  her  solitary  task. 
I felt  rebuked,  for  there  is  something  almost  pro- 
phetic in  the  admonitions  of  the  old.  The  eye  of 
age  looks  meekly  into  my  heart,  the  voice  of  age 
echoes  mournfully  through  it,  the  hoary  head  and 
palsied  hand  of  age  plead  irresistibly  for  its  sympa- 
thies I I venerate  old  age ; and  I love  not  the  man 
who  can  look  without  emotion  upon  the  sunset  of 
life,  when  the  dusk  of  evening  begins  to  gather  over 
the  watery  eye,  and  the  shadows  of  twilight  grow 
broader  and  deeper  upon  the  understanding  I 

pursued  the  pathway  which  led  towards  the 
village ; and  the  next  person  I encountered  was  an 
old  man,  stretched  lazily  beneath  the  vines  upon  a 
little  strip  of  turf,  at  a point  where  four  paths  met, 
forming  a crossway  in  the  vineyard.  He  was  clad 
in  a coarse  garb  of  gray,  with  a pair  of  long  gaiters 
or  spatterdashes.  Beside  him  lay  a blue  cloth  cap,  a 
staff,  and  an  old  weather-beaten  knapsack.  I saAv  at 
once  that  he  was  a foot-traveller  like  myself,  and 
therefore,  without  more  ado,  entered  into  conversa- 
tion with  him.  From  his  language,  and  the  peculiar 
manner  in  which  he  now  and  then  wiped  his  upper 
lip  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  as  if  in  search  of  the 
mustache  which  was  no  longer  there,  I judged  that 
he  had  been  a soldier.  In  this  opinion  I was  not 
mistaken.  He  had  served  under  Napoleon,  and  had 
followed  the  imperial  eagle  across  the  Alps  and  the 
Pyrenees,  and  the  burning  sands  of  Egypt.  Like 
every  vieille  moustache^  he  spake  with  enthusiasm  of 


182 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONCi FELLOW. 


the  Little  (h)rpor5il,  and  cursed  the  English,  the 
Germans,  the  Si)anish,  and  every  other  race  on  earth, 
except  the  Great  Nation,  — his  own. 

“ ‘ I like,’  said  hje,  after  a long  day's  inarch,  to  lie 
down  in  this  way  upon  the  grass,  and  enjoy  the  cool 
of  the  evening.  It  reminds  me  of  the  bivouacs  of 
other  days,  and  of  old  friends  who  are  now  up  there.’ 

“ Here  he  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  sky. 

“ ‘ They  have  reached  the  last  etape  before  me,  in 
the  long  march.  But  I shall  go  soon.  We  shall  all 

meet  again  at  the  last  roll-call.  Sacre  nom  de ! 

There's  a tear  I ’ 

“ He  wiped  it  away  with  his  sleeve. 

“ Here  our  colloquy  was  interrupted  by  the  ap- 
proach of  a group  of  vintagers,  who  were  returning 
homeward  from  their  labor.  To  this  party  I joined 
myself,  and  invited  the  old  soldier  to  do  the  same  ; 
but  he  shook  his  head. 

“ ‘ I thank  you : my  pathway  lies  in  a different 
direction.’ 

“‘But  there  is  no  other  village  near,  and  the  sun 
has  already  set.’ 

“ ‘ No  matter,  I am  used  to  sleeping  on  the  ground. 
Good-night.’ 

“ I left  the  old  man  to  his  meditations,  and  walked 
on  in  company  with  the  vintagers.  Following  a 
well-trodden  pathway  through  the  vineyards,  we 
soon  descended  the  valley’s  slope  ; and  I suddenly 
found  myself  in  the  bosom  of  one  of  those  little 
hamlets  from  which  the  laborer  rises  to  his  toil  as 
the  skylark  to  his  song.  My  companions  wished  me 
a good-night,  as  each  entered  his  own  thatch-roofed 


Longfellow’s  first  visit  to  eukope.  18‘8 


cottage  ; and  a little  girl  led  me  out  to  the  very  inn 
which  an  hour  or  two  before  I had  disdained  to  enter. 

“ When  I awoke  in  the  morning,  a brilliant  au- 
tumnal sun  was  shining  in  at  my  window.  The 
merry  song  of  birds  mingled  sweetly  with  the  sound 
of  rustling  leaves  and  the  gurgle  of  the  brook.  The 
vintagers  were  going  forth  to  their  toil,  the  wine- 
press was  busy  in  the  shade,  and  the  clatter  of  the 
mill  kept  time  to  the  miller’s  song.  I loitered  about 
the  village  with  a feeling  of  calm  delight.  I was 
unwilling  to  leave  the  seclusion  of  this  sequestered 
hamlet:  but  at  length,  with  reluctant  step,  I took 
the  cross-road  through  the  vineyard ; and  in  a moment 
the  little  village  had  sunk  again,  as  if  by  enchant- 
ment, into  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 

“ I breakfasted  at  the  town  of  Mer,  and,  leaving 
the  high-road  to  Blois  on  the  right,  passed  down  to 
the  banks  of  the  Loire,  through  a long,  broad  avenue 
of  poplars  and  sycamores.  I crossed  tlie  river  in  a 
boat;  and,  in  the  after  part  of  the  day,  I found  myself 
before  the  high  and  massive  walls  of  the  chateau  of 
Chambord.  This  chateau  is  one  of  the  finest  speci- 
mens of  the  ancient  Gothic  castle  to  be  found  in 
Europe.  The  little  river  C’osson  fills  its  deep  and 
ample  moat ; and  above  it  the  huge  towers  and  heavy 
battlements  rise  in  stern  and  solemn  grandeur,  moss- 
grown  with  age,  and  blackened  by  the  storms  of  three 
centuries.  Within,  all  is  mournful  and  deserted. 
Tlie  grass  has  overgrown  the  pavement  of  the  court- 
yard, and  the  rude  sculpture  upon  the  walls  is  broken 
and  defaced.  From  the  courtyard  I entered  the  cen- 
tral tower,  and,  ascending  the  principal  staircase. 


134 


HKNllY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


went  out  upon  tlie  battlements.  I seemed  to  have 
stepped  back  into  the  precincts  of  tlie  feudal  ages ; 
and  as  I passed  along  through  echoing  corridors,  and 
vast,  deserted  halls,  stripped  of  their  furniture,  and 
mouldering  silently  away,  tlie  distant  past  came  back 
upon  me,  and  the  times  when  the  clang  of  arms,  and 
the  tramp  of  mail-clad  men,  and  the  sounds  of  music 
and  revelry  and  wassail,  echoed  along  those  high- 
vaulted  and  solitary  chambers. 

“ My  third  day’s  journe}"  brought  me  to  the  ancient 
city  of  Blois,  the  chief  town  of  the  department  of 
Loire-et-Cher.  This  city  is  celebrated  for  the  purity 
with  which  even  the  lower  classes  of  its  inhabitants 
speak  their  native  tongue.  It  rises  precipitously 
from  the  northern  bank  of  the  Loire,  and  many  of 
its  streets  are  so  steep  as  to  be  almost  impassable  for 
carriages.  On  the  brow  of  the  hill,  overlooking  the 
roofs  of  the  city,  and  commanding  a fine  view  of  the 
Loire  and  its  noble  bridge,  and  the  surrounding  coun- 
try sprinkled  with  cottages  and  chateaux,  runs  an 
ample  terrace,  planted  with  trees,  and  laid  out  as  a 
public  walk.  The  view  from  this  terrace  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  in  France.  But  what  most  strikes 
the  eye  of  the  traveller  at  Blois  is  an  old,  though  still 
unfinished,  castle.  Its  huge  parapets  of  hewn  stone 
stand  upon  either  side  of  the  street ; but  they  have 
walled  up  the  wide  gateway,  from  which  the  colossal 
drawbridge  was  to  have  sprung  high  in  air,  connect- 
ing together  the  main  towers  of  the  building,  and 
the  two  hills  upon  whose  slope  its  foundations  stand. 
The  aspect  of  this  vast  pile  is  gloomy  and  desolate. 
It  seems  as  if  the  strong  hand  of  the  builder  had 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  135 


been  arrested  in  the  midst  of  his  task  by  the  stronger 
hand  of  death ; and  the  unfinished  fabric  stands  a 
lasting  monument,  both  of  the  power  and  weakness 
of  man,  — of  his  vast  desires,  his  sanguine  hopes,  his 
ambitious  purposes,  — and  of  the  unlooked-for  con- 
clusion, where  all  these  desires  and  hopes  and  pur- 
poses are  so  often  arrested.  There  is  also  at  Blois 
another  ancient  chateau,  to  which  some  historic  inter- 
est is  attached,  as  being  the  scene  of  the  massacre  of 
the  Duke  of  Guise. 

“ On  the  following  day  I left  Blois  for  Amboise, 
and,  after  walking  several  leagues  along  the  dusty 
highway,  crossed  the  river  in  a boat  to  the  little 
village  of  Moines,  which  lies  amid  luxuriant  vine- 
3’ards  upon  the  southern  bank  of  the  Loire.  From 
Moines  to  Amboise  the  road  is  truly  delightful.  The 
rich  lowland  scenery,  by  the  margin  of  the  river,  is 
verdant,  even  in  October ; and  occasionally  the  land- 
scape is  diversified  with  the  picturesque  cottages  of 
the  vintagers  cut  in  the  rock  along  the  roadside,  and 
overnung  by  the  thick  foliage  of  the  vines  above 
them . 

“ At  Amboise  I took  a cross-road,  which  led  me  to 
the  romantic  borders  of  the  Cher  and  the  chateau  of 
Chenonceau.  This  beautiful  chateau,  as  well  as  that 
of  Chambord,  was  built  by  the  gay  and  munificent 
Francis  the  First.  One  is  a specimen  of  strong  and 
massive  architecture,  — a dwelling  for  a warrior;  but 
the  other  is  of  a lighter  and  more  graceful  construc- 
tion, and  was  destined  for  those  soft  languishments 
of  passion  with  which  the  fascinating  Diane  de 
Poitiers  had  filled  the  bosom  of  that  voluptuous 
monarch. 


136 


HENKY  WADSWOKTH  I.ONGFKLLOW. 


“The  chateau  of  Cheiionceau  is  ])uilt  u[)oii  arches 
across  the  river  Cher,  whose  waters  are  made  to  sup- 
ply the  deep  moat  at  each  extremity.  There  is  a 
spacious  court-yard  in  front,  from  wliich  a drawbridge 
conducts  to  tlie  outer  hall  of  the  castle.  There  the 
armor  of  Francis  the  First  still  hangs  upon  the  wall, 
— his  shield  and  helm  and  lance,  — as  if  the  chival- 
rous ])rince  had  just  exchanged  them  for  the  silken 
robes  of  the  drawing-room.  From  this  hall  a door 
opens  into  a long  gallery,  extending  the  whole  length 
of  the  building  across  the  Cher.  The  walls  of  the 
gallery  are  hung  with  the  faded  portraits  of  the  long 
line  of  the  descendants  of  Hugh  Capet ; and  the  win- 
dows, looking  up  and  down  the  stream,  command  a 
tine  reach  of  pleasant  river  scenery.  This  is  said  to 
be  the  only  chateau  in  France  in  Avhich  the  ancient 
furniture  of  its  original  age  is  preserved.  In  one 
part  of  the  building,  you  are  shown  the  bed-chamber 
of  Diane  de  Poitiers,  with  its  antique  chairs  covered 
with  faded  damask  and  embroidery,  her  bed,  and  a 
portrait  of  the  royal  favorite  hanging  over  the  mantel- 
piece. In  another,  you  see  the  apartment  of  the  in- 
famous Catherine  de’  Medici;  a venerable  arm-chair 
and  an  autograph  letter  of  Henry  the  Fourth ; and 
in  an  old  laboratory,  among  broken  crucibles  and 
neckless  retorts,  and  drums  and  trumpets,  and  skins 
of  wild  beasts,  and  other  ancient  lumber  of  various 
kinds,  are  to  be  seen  the  bed-posts  of  Francis  the 
First.  Doubtless  the  naked  walls  and  the  vast,  soli- 
tary chambers  of  an  old  and  desolate  chMeau  inspire 
a feeling  of  greater  solemnity  and  awe  ; but  when  the 
antique  furniture  of  the  olden  time  remains,  — the 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  137 


faded  tapestry  on  the  walls,  and  the  arm-chair  by 
the  fireside,  — the  effect  upon  the  mind  is  more  magi- 
cal and  delightful.  The  old  inhabitants  of  the  place, 
long  gathered  to  their  fathers,  though  living  still  in 
history,  seem  to  have  left  their  halls  for  the  chase 
or  the  tournament ; and,  as  the  heavy  door  swings 
upon  its  reluctant  hinge,  one  almost  expects  to  see 
the  gallant  princes  and  courtly  dames  enter  those 
lialls  again,  and  sweep  in  stately  procession  along 
the  silent  corridors. 

“ Rapt  in  such  fancies  as  these,  and  gazing  on  the 
beauties  of  this  noble  edifice,  and  the  soft  scenery 
around  it,  I lingered,  unwilling  to  depart,  till  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun,  streaming  through  the  dusty 
windows,  admonished  me  that  the  day  was  drawing 
rapidly  to  a close.  I sallied  forth  from  the  southern 
gate  of  the  chateau,  and,  crossing  the  broken  draw- 
bridge, pursued  a pathway  along  the  bank  of  the 
river,  still  gazing  back  upon  those  towering  walls, 
now  batlied  in  the  rich  glow  of  sunset,  till  a turn  in 
the  road  and  a clump  of  woodland  at  length  shut 
them  out  from  my  sight. 

“ A short  time  after  candle-lighting,  I reached  the 
little  tavern  of  the  Boule  d’Or,  a few  leagues  from 
Tours,  where  I passed  the  night.  The  following 
morning  was  lowering  and  sad.  A veil  of  mist  hung 
over  the  landscape ; and  ever  and  anon  a heavy 
shower  burst  from  the  overburdened  clouds,  that 
were  driving  by  before  a high  and  piercing  wind. 
This  unpropitious  state  of  the  weather  detained  me 
until  noon,  when  a cabriolet  for  Tours  drove  up ; 
and,  taking  a seat  within  it,  I left  the  hostess  of  the 


138  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW.  ' 

Boule  d’Or  in  the  middle  of  a long  story  about  a rich 
countess,  who  always  alighted  there  when  she  passed 
that  way.  We  drove  leisurely  along  through  a beau- 
tiful country,  till  at  length  we  came  to  the  brow  of 
a steep  hill,  which  commands  a fine  view  of  the  city 
of  Tours  and  its  delightful  environs.  But  the  scene 
was  shrouded  by  the  heavy,  drifting  mist,  through 
which  I could  trace  but  indistinctly  the  graceful 
sweep  of  the  Loire,  and  the  spires  and  roofs  of  the 
city  far  below  me. 

“ The  city  of  Tours  and  the  delicious  plain  in 
which  it  lies  have  been  too  often  described  by  other 
travellers  to  render  a new  description,  from  so  listless 
a pen  as  mine,  either  necessary  or  desirable.  After 
a sojourn  of  two  cloudy  and  melancholy  days,  I set 
out  on  my  return  to  Paris,  by  the  way  of  Vendbme 
and  Chartres.  I stopped  a few  hours  at  the  former 
place,  to  examine  the  ruins  of  a chateau  built  by 
Jeanne  d’Albret,  mother  of  Henry  the  Fourth.  It 
stands  upon  the  summit  of  a high  and  precipitous 
hill,  and  almost  overhangs  the  town  beneath.  The 
French  Revolution  has  completed  the  ruin  that  time 
had  already  begun ; and  nothing  now  remains  but  a 
broken  and  crumbling  bastion,  and  here  and  there 
a solitary  tower  dropping  slowly  to  decay.  In  one 
of  these  is  the  grave  of  Jeanne  d’Albret.  A marble 
entablature  in  the  wall  above  contains  the  inscription, 
which  is  nearly  effaced ; though  enough  still  remains 
to  tell  the  curious  traveller  that  there  lies  buried 
the  mother  of  the  ‘ Bon  Henri.’  To  this  is  added 
a prayer  that  the  repose  of  the  dead  may  be  re- 
spected. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  139 


“ Here  ended  my  foot-excursion.  The  object  of 
my  journey  was  accomplished ; and,  delighted  with 
this  short  ramble  through  the  valley  of  the  Loire,  I 
took  my  seat  in  the  diligence  for  Paris,  and,  on  the 
following  day,  was  again  swallowed  up  in  the  crowds 
of  the  metropolis,  like  a drop  in  the  bosom  of  the 
sea.” 

The  winter  of  1826-7  was  spent  wholly  in  Paris; 
and  Longfellow  now  devoted  most  of  his  time  to 
acquiring  a more  intimate  knowledge  of  the  French 
language,  and  of  the  literature  of  France.  He  was 
almost  a perfect  stranger  in  the  city,  having  no 
friends  except  those  to  whom  he  had  introduced 
himself,  and  by  whom  he  had  been  hospitably  wel- 
comed. To  be  sure,  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
America  letters  of  introduction  to  certain  persons  of 
note  and  of  influence  in  Paris ; but  he  chose  to  have 
little  to  do  with  these,  and  to  rely  upon  himself  as 
much  as  possible.  The  knowledge  of  the  language, 
which  lie  had  acipiired  in  college,  although  somewhat 
superficial,  served  him  quite  well ; and  it  was  not 
long  before  he  was  able  to  converse  with  considerable 
readiness  Avith  those  with  whom  he  was  brought  in 
contact. 

Nor  did  he  pursue  the  course  of  study  carelessly 
and  without  system.  One  hour  each  day  through 
the  season,  he  took  lessons  of  an  experienced  teacher, 
was  a frequent  visitor  at  the  several  reading-rooms, 
and  often  went  to  the  theatres,  Avhere  he  would  fol- 
low the  actors  with  a printed  copy  of  the  \)hiy  before 
him.  As  it  happened,  most  of  the  plays  were  the 
compositions  of  the  standard  authors  of  F ranee  ; for 


140 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


not  yet  liad  the  drama  degenerated  into  the  low 
tone  and  anomalous  character  tliat  it  exhibits  on  the 
French  stage  of  to-day.  Longfellow  was  also  a fre- 
quent aiTditor  in  the  lecture-rooms,  where  he  profited 
by  the  words  of  wisdom  that  fell  from  the  lips  of 
some  of  the  most  distinguished  scholars  and  orators 
of  France. 

Not  the  smallest  portion  of  his  time  was  consumed 
in  the  quiet  of  his  own  lodgings.  Here  he  first  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  fabliaux^  or  metrical  tales 
of  the  Trouveres,  the  troubadours  of  the  North.  Of 
these  he  made  several  translations,  a few  of  them 
being  still  preserved. 

The  winter  had  barely  come  to  an  end,  when  Long- 
fellow again  set  out  on  a fresh  tour  of  the  country, 
this  time  through  the  south  of  France.  For  “ five 
weary  days  and  four  weary  nights  ” he  was  travelling 
on  the  road  leading  from  Paris  to  Bordeaux.  On 
leaving  Orleans,  instead  of  following  the  mail-route 
through  Tours,  Poitiers,  and  Angouleme,  and  thence 
on  to  Bordeaux,  he  chose  a route  across  the  depart- 
ments of  the  Indre,  Haute -Vienne,  and  the  Dordogne, 
passing  through  the  provincial  capitals  of  Chateau- 
roux,  Limoges,  and  Perigueux. 

Longfellow  reached  Bordeaux  at  the  height  of  the 
carnival  season,  and  left  it  amid  the  noise  and  gayety 
of  the  last  scene,  when  all  was  so  full  of  mirth  and 
merry  make,  that  even  beggary  seemed  to  have  for- 
gotten that  it  was  wretched,  and  gloried  in  the 
ragged  masquerade  of  one  poor  holiday.”  To  this 
scene  of  noise  succeeded  the  silence  and  solitude  of 
the  Landes  of  Gascony.  On  leaving  Bayonne,  the 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  141 


landscape  assumed  a cTiaracter  of  greater  beauty  and 
sublimity.  Ere  long,  rose  the  Pyrenees,  — 

“ Bounded  afar  by  peak  aspiring  bold, 

Like  giant  capped  with  helm  of  burnished  gold.’’ 

“ Just  at  nightfall  we  entered  the  town  of  St.  Jean 
de  Luz,  and  dashed  down  its  narrow  streets  at  full 
gallop.  The  little  madcap  postilion  cracked  his 
knotted  whip  incessantly,  and  the  sound  echoed  back 
from  the  high  dingy  walls  like  the  report  of  a pistol. 
The  coach-wheels  nearly  touched  the  houses  on  each 
side  of  us ; the  idlers  in  the  street  jumped  right  and 
left  to  save  themselves ; window-shutters  flew  open 
in  all  directions ; a thousand  heads  popped  out  from 
cellar  and  upper  story  ; ‘ Sacr-r-re  matin ! ’ shouted 
the  postilion,  — and  we  rattled  on  like  an  earth- 
quake. 

“ St.  Jean  de  Luz  is  a smoky  little  fishing-town, 
situated  on  the  low  grounds  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Nivelle  ; and  a bridge  connects  it  with  the  faubourg 
of  Sibourne,  which  stands  on  the  opposite  bank  of 
the  river.  I had  no  time,  however,  to  note  the  pecul- 
iarities of  the  place,  for  I was  whirled  out  of  it  with 
the  same  speed  and  confusion  with  which  I had  been 
whirled  in ; and  I can  only  recollect  the  sweep  of  the 
road  across  the  Nivelle,  the  church  of  Sibourne  by 
the  water's  edge,  the  narrow  streets,  the  smoky- 
looking houses  with  red  window-shutters,  and  ‘a 
very  ancient  and  lish-like  smell.’ 

“ I passed  by  moonlight  the  little  river  Bidasoa, 
which  forms  the  boundary  between  France  and 
Spain,  and,  when  the  morning  brokv,  found  myself 


142 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


far  up  among  the  mountains  of  San  Salvador,  the 
most  westerly  links  of  the  great  Pyrenean  chain. 
The  mountains  around  me  were  neither  rugged  nor 
precipitous,  but  they  rose  one  above  another  in  a 
long,  majestic  swell;  and  the  trace  of  the  ploughshare 
was  occasionally  visible  to  their  summits.  They 
seemed  entirely  destitute  of  trees ; and,  as  the  season 
of  vegetation  had  not  }^et  commenced,  their  huge 
outlines  lay  black  and  barren  and  desolate  against 
the  sky.  But  it  was  a glorious  morning ; and  the  sun 
rose  up  into  a cloudless  heaven,  and  poured  a flood 
of  gorgeous  splendor  over  the  mountain  landscape, 
as  if  proud  of  the  realm  he  shone  upon.  The  scene 
was  enlivened  by  the  dashing  of  a swollen  mountain- 
brook,  whose  course  we  followed  for  miles  down  the 
valley,  as  it  leaped  onward  to  its  journey’s  end,  now 
breaking  into  a white  cascade,  and  now  foaming  and 
chafing  beneath  a rustic  bridge.  Now  and  then  we 
drove  through  a dilapidated  town,  with  a group  of 
idlers  at  every  corner,  wrapped  in  tattered  brown 
cloaks,  and  smoking  their  little  paper  cigars  in  the 
sun  ; then  would  succeed  a desolate  tract  of  country, 
cheered  only  by  the  tinkle  of  a mule-bell,  or  the  song 
of  a muleteer ; then  we  would  meet  a solitary  trav- 
eller mounted  on  horseback,  and  wrapped  in  the 
ample  folds  of  his  cloak,  with  a gun  hanging  at 
the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  Occasionally,  too,  among 
the  bleak,  inhospitable  hills,  we  passed  a rude  little 
chapel,  with  a cluster  of  ruined  cottages  around  it ; 
and  whenever  our  carriage  stopped  at  the  relay,  or 
loitered  slowly  up  the  hillside,  a crowd  of  children 
would  gather  around  us,  with  little  images  and  cruci- 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  143 


fixes  for  sale,  curiously  ornamented  with  ribbons,  and 
bits  of  tawdry  finery. 

“ A day’s  journey  from  the  frontier  brought  us  to 
Vitoria,  where  the  diligence  stopped  for  the  night. 
I spent  the  scanty  remnant  of  daylight  in  rambling 
about  the  streets  of  the  city,  with  no  other  guide 
than  the  whim  of  the  moment.  Now  I plunged  down 
a dark  and  narrow  alley,  now  emerged  into  a wide 
street  or  a spacious  market-place,  and  now  aroused 
the  drowsy  echoes  of  a church  or  cloister  with  the 
sound  of  my  intruding  footsteps.  But  descriptions 
of  churches  and  public  squares  are  dull  and  tedious 
matters  for  those  readers  who  are  in  search  of  amuse- 
ment, and  not  of  instruction ; and,  if  any  one  has 
accompanied  me  thus  far  on  my  fatiguing  journey 
towards  the  Spanish  capital,  I will  readily  excuse  him 
from  the  toil  of  an  evening  ramble  through  the  streets 
of  Vitoria. 

“ On  the  following  morning  we  left  the  town,  long 
before  daybreak ; and,  during  our  forenoon’s  journey, 
the  postilion  drew  up  at  an  inn,  on  the  southern 
slope  of  the  Sierra  de  San  Lorenzo,  in  the  province 
of  Old  Castile.  The  house  was  an  old,  dilapidated 
tenement,  built  of  rough  stone,  and  coarsely  plas- 
tered upon  the  outside.  The  tiled  roof  had  long 
been  the  sport  of  wind  and  rain,  the  motley  coat 
of  plaster  was  broken  and  time-worn,  and  the  whole 
building  sadly  out  of  repair ; though  the  fanciful 
mouldings  under  the  eaves,  and  the  curiously  carved 
wood- work  that  supported  the  little  balcony  over  the 
principal  entrance,  spoke  of  better  days  gone  by.  The 
whole  building  reminded  me  of  a dilapidated  Spanish 


144 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


don,  down  at  the  heel  and  out  at  elbows,  but  with 
here  and  there  a remnant  of  former  magnificence 
peeping  through  the  loop-holes  of  his  tattered  cloak. 

“ A wide  gateway  ushered  the  traveller  into  the 
interior  of  the  building,  and  conducted  him  to  a low- 
roofed  apartment,  paved  with  round  stones,  and 
serving  both  as  a court-yard  and  a stable.  It  seemed 
to  be  a neutral  ground  for  man  and  beast,  — a little 
republic,  where  horse  and  rider  had  common  privi- 
leges, and  mule  and  muleteer  lay  cheek  by  jowl.  In 
one  corner  a poor  jackass  was  patiently  devouring  a 
bundle  of  musty  straw;  in  another,  its  master  lay 
sound  asleep,  with  his  saddle-cloth  for  a pillow;  here 
a group  of  muleteers  were  quarrelling  over  a pack  of 
dirty  cards ; and  there  the  village  barber,  with  a self- 
important  air,  stood  laving  the  alcalde’s  chin  from 
the  helmet  of  Mambrino.  On  the  wall  a little  tapei* 
glimmered  feebly  before  an  image  of  St.  Anthony ; 
directl}^  opposite  these  a leathern  wine-bottle  hung 
by  the  neck  from  a pair  of  ox-horns . and  the  pave- 
ment below  was  covered  with  a curious  medley  of 
boxes  and  bags  and  cloaks  and  pack-saddles,  and 
sacks  of  grain  and  skins  of  wine,  and  all  kinds  of 
lumber. 

“ A small  door  upon  the  right  led  us  into  the  inn- 
kitchen.  It  was  a room  about  ten  feet  square,  and 
literally  all  chimney;  for  the  hearth  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  floor,  and  the  walls  sloped  upward  in 
the  form  of  a long,  narrow  pyramid,  with  an  opening 
at  the  top  for  the  escape  of  the  smoke.  Quite  round 
this  little  room  ran  a row  of  benches,  upon  which  sat 
one  or  two  grave  personages  smoking  paper  cigars. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  145 


Upon  the  hearth  blazed  a handful  of  fagots,  whose 
bright  flame  danced  merrily  among  a motley  congre- 
gation of  pots  and  kettles;  and  a long  wreath  of 
smoke  wound  lazily  up  through  the  huge  tunnel  of 
the  roof  above.  The  walls  were  black  with  soot,  and 
ornamented  with  sundry  legs  of  bacon  and  festoons 
of  sausages ; and,  as  there  were  no  windows  in  this 
dingy  abode,  the  only  light  which  cheered  the  dark- 
' ness  within  came  flickering  from  the  fire  upon  the 
hearth,  and  the  smoky  sunbeams  that  peeped  down 
the  long-necked  chimney. 

I had  not  been  long  seated  by  the  fire,  when  the 
tinkling  of  mule-bells,  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  the 
hoarse  voice  of  a muleteer  in  the  outer  apartment, 
announced  the  arrival  of  new  guests.  A few  mo- 
ments afterward  the  kitchen-door  opened,  and  a 
person  entered,  whose  appearance  strongly  arrested 
my  attention.  It  was  a tall,  athletic  figure,  with  the 
majestic  carriage  of  a grandee,  and  a dark,  sunburnt 
countenance,  that  indicated  an  age  of  about  fifty 
years.  His  dress  was  singular,  and  such  as  I had  not 
before  seen.  He  wore  a round  hat  with  wide,  flap- 
ping brim,  from  beneath  which  his  long  black  hair 
hung  in  curls  upon  his  shoulders ; a leather  jerkin, 
with  cloth  sleeves,  descended  to  his  hips;  around  his 
waist  was  closely  buckled  a leather  belt,  with  a car- 
touch-box  on  one  side ; a pair  of  loose  trousers  of 
black  serge  hung  in  ample  folds  to  the  knees,  around 
which  they  were  closely  gatliered  by  embroidered 
garters  of  blue  silk ; and  black  broadcloth  leggins, 
buttoned  close  to  the  calves,  and  strapped  over  a pair 
of  brown  leather  shoes,  completed  the  singular  dress 


146 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


of  the  stranger.  He  doffed  his  hat  as  he  entered, 
and  saluting  the  company  with  a ‘ I)io8  guarde  d 
Ustedes^  Caballeros'  (‘God  guard  you,  gentlemen’), 
took  a seat  by  the  fire,  and  entered  into  conversation 
with  those  around  liim. 

“ As  my  curiosity  was  not  a little  excited  by  the 
peculiar  dress  of  this  person,  I inquired  of  a travel- 
ling companion,  who  sat  at  my  elbow,  who  and  what 
this  new-comer  was.  From  him  I learned  that  he 
was  a muleteer  of  the  Maragateria,  — a name  given 
to  a cluster  of  small  towns  which  lie  in  the  mountain- 
ous country  between  Astorga  and  Villafranca,  in  the 
western  corner  of  the  kingdom  of  Leon. 

“‘Nearly  every  province  in  Spain,’  said  he,  ‘has 
its  peculiar  costume,  as  you  will  see  when  you  have 
advanced  farther  into  our  country.  For  instance, 
the  Catalonians  wear  crimson  caps,  hanging  down 
upon  the  shoulder  like  a sack ; wide  pantaloons  of 
green  velvet,  long  enough  in  the  waistband  to  cover 
the  whole  breast ; and  a little  strip  of  a jacket,  made 
of  the  same  material,  and  so  short  as  to  bring  the 
pocket  directly  under  the  armpit.  The  Valencians, 
on  the  contrary,  go  almost  naked : a linen  shirt ; 
white  linen  trousers,  reaching  no  lower  than  the 
knees ; and  a pair  of  coarse  leather  sandals  complete 
their  simple  garb : it  is  only  in  mid-winter  that  they 
indulge  in  the  luxury  of  a jacket.  The  most  beauti- 
ful and  expensive  costume,  however,  is  that  of  Anda- 
lusia : it  consists  of  a velvet  jacket,  faced  with  rich 
and  various-colored  embroidery,  and  covered  with 
tassels  and  silken  cord ; a waistcoat  of  some  gay 
color ; a silken  handkerchief  round  the  neck,  and  a 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  147 


crimson  sash  round  the  waist ; breeches  that  button 
down  each  side ; gaiters  and  shoes  of  white  leather ; 
and  a handkerchief  of  bright-colored  silk  wound  about 
the  head  like  a turban,  and  surmounted  by  a velvet 
cap,  or  a little  round  hat  with  a wide  band,  and  an 
abundance  of  silken  loops  and  tassels.  The  Old  Cas- 
tilians are  more  grave  in  their  attire : they  wear  a 
leather  breastplate  instead  of  a jacket,  breeches  and 
leggings,  and  a montera  cap.  This  fellow  is  a Mara- 
gato ; and  in  the  villages  of  the  Maragateria  the 
costume  varies  a little  from  the  rest  of  Leon  and 
Castile.’ 

“ ‘ If  he  is  indeed  a Maragato,’  said  I jestingly, 
‘ who  knows  but  he  may  be  a descendant  of  the 
muleteer  who  behaved  so  naughtily  at  Cacabelos,  as 
related  in  the  second  chapter  of  the  veracious  history 
of  Gil  Bias  de  Santillana  ? ’ 

^^'‘^Quien  mheV  was  the  reply.  ‘Notwithstand- 
ing the  pride  which  even  the  meanest  Castilian  feels 
in  counting  over  a long  line  of  good-for-nothing 
ancestors,  the  science  of  genealogy  has  become  of  late 
a very  intricate  study  in  Spain.’ 

“ Here  our  conversation  was  cut  short  by  the  May- 
oral  of  the  diligence,  who  came  to  tell  us  that  the  mules 
were  waiting ; and,  before  many  hours  had  elapsed, 
Ave  were  scrambling  through  the  square  of  the  ancient 
city  of  Burgos.  On  the  morrow  we  crossed  the  river 
Duero  and  the  Guadarrama  Mountains,  and  early  in 
the  afternoon  entered  the  ‘ Her6ica  Villa  ’ of  Madrid, 
by  the  Puerta  de  Fuencarral.” 

Our  traveller  loitered  in  tlie  famous  and  romantic 
old  city  of  Madrid  until  the  last  of  May.  Again  he 


148 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


renewed  his  severer  studies,  and  ])ecame  enamored  of 
tlie  “ soft  and  yet  majestic  language  that  falls  like 
martial  music  on  the  ear,  and  a literature  rich  in  the 
attractive  lore  of  poetry  and  fiction.”  In  June  he 
repaired  to  the  village  of  El  Pardillo,  situated  on  the 
southern  slope  of  the  Guadarrama  Mountains,  just 
wliere  the  last  broken  spurs  of  the  Sierra  stretch 
forward  into  the  vast  table-land  of  New  Castile.  He 
says,  — 

“ In  this  quiet  place  I sojourned  for  a season,  ac- 
companied by  the  publican  Don  Valentin  and  his 
fair  daughter  Florencia.  We  took  up  our  abode  in 
the  cottage  of  a peasant  named  Lucas,  an  honest 
tiller  of  the  soil,  simple  and  good-natured,  or,  in  the 
more  emphatic  language  of  Don  Valentin,  ‘ homhre 
muy  mfeliz^  y sin  malicia  ninguna.^  Not  so  his  wife 
Matina : she  was  a Tartar,  and  so  mettlesome  withal, 
that  poor  Lucas  skulked  doggedly  about  his  own 
premises,  with  his  head  down,  and  his  tail  between 
his  legs. 

“ In  this  little  village  my  occupations  were  few  and 
simple.  My  morning’s  walk  was  to  the  Cross  of  Es- 
palmado,  a large  wooden  crucifix  in  the  fields ; the 
day  was  passed  with  books,  or  with  any  idle  compan- 
ion I was  lucky  enough  to  catch  by  the  button,  and 
bribe  with  a cigar  into  a long  story,  or  a little  village 
gossip ; and  I whiled  away  the  evening  in  peeping 
round  among  the  cottagers,  studying  the  beautiful 
landscape  that  spread  before  me,  and  watching  the 
occasional  gathering  of  a storm  about  the  blue  peaks 
of  the  Guadarrama  Mountains.  My  favorite  haunt 
was  a secluded  spot  in  a little  woodland  valley, 


LONGFELLOW'S  FlUST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  149 


through  which  a crystal  brook  ran  brawling  along 
its  pebbly  channel.  There,  stretched  in  the  shadow 
of  a tree,  I often  passed  the  hours  of  noontide  lieat, 
now  reading  the  magic  numbers  of  Garcilaso,  and 
anon  listening  to  the  song  of  the  nightingale  over- 
head; or  watching  the  toil  of  a patient  ant,  as  he 
rolled  his  stone,  like  Sisyphus,  up  hill ; or  the  flight 
of  a bee  darting  from  flower  to  flower,  and  ‘ hiding 
his  murmurs  in  the  rose.’ 

“ The  village  church,  too,  was  a spot  around  which 
I occasionally  lingered  of  an  evening,  when  in  pen- 
sive or  melancholy  mood.  It  is  a gloomy  little  edi- 
fice, standing  upon  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and 
built  of  dark  and  unhewn  stone,  with  a spire  like 
a sugar-loaf.  There  is  no  grass-plot  in  front,  but  a 
little  esplanade  beaten  hard  by  the  footsteps  of  the 
church-going  peasantry.  The  tombstone  of  one  of 
the  patriarchs  of  the  village  serves  as  a doorstep,  and 
a single  solitary  tree  throws  its  friendly  shade  upon 
the  portals  of  the  little  sanctuary. 

“I  must  not  forget,  in  this  place,  to  make  honor- 
able mention  of  the  little  great  men  of  El  Pardillo. 
And  first  in  order  comes  the  priest.  He  was  a short,, 
portly  man,  serious  in  manner,  and  of  grave  and  rev- 
erend presence ; though  at  the  same  time  there  wa& 
a dash  of  the  jolly-fat-friar  about  him;  and,  on  hear- 
ing a good  joke  or  a sly  innuendo,  a smile  would 
gleam  in  his  eye,  and  play  over  his  round  face,  like 
the  light  of  a glowworm.  His  housekeeper  was  a 
brisk,  smiling  little  woman,  on  the  shady  side  of 
thirty,  and  a cousin  of  his  to  boot.  Whenever  she 
was  mentioned,  Don  Valentin  looked  wise,  as  if  this 


150 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


oousiiislii])  were  apocryphal;  but  he  said  nothing, — 
not  lie  ; what  right  had  he  to  be  peeping  into  other 
people’s  business,  when  he  liad  only  one  eye  to  look 
after  his  own  withal?  Next  in  rank  to  the  dominie 
was  the  alcalde,  justice  of  the  peace  and  quorum, 
a most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  personage,  with 
a long  beak  of  a nose,  and  a pouch  under  his  chin, 
like  a pelican.  He  was  a man  of  few  words,  but 
great  in  authority ; and  his  importance  was  vastly 
increased  in  the  village  by  a pair  of  double-barrelled 
spectacles,  so  contrived,  that,  when  bent  over  his 
desk  and  deeply  buried  in  his  musty  papers,  he  could 
look  up  and  see  what  was  going  on  around  him  with- 
out moving  his  head,  whereby  he  got  the  reputation 
of  seeing  twice  as  much  as  other  people.  There  was 
the  village  surgeon,  too,  a tall  man  with  a varnished 
hat  and  a starved  dog : he  had  studied  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Salamanca,  and  was  pompous  and  pedantic, 
ever  and  anon  quoting  some  threadbare  maxim  from 
the  Greek  philosophers,  and  embellishing  it  with  a 
commentary  of  his  own.  Then  there  was  the  gray- 
headed sacristan,  who  rang  the  church-bell,  played 
on  the  organ,  and  was  learned  in  tombstone-lore ; 
a politician,  who  talked  me  to  death  about  taxes, 
liberty,  and  the  days  of  the  constitution ; and  a no- 
tary public,  a poor  man  with  a large  family,  who 
would  make  a paper  cigar  last  half  an  hour,  and  who 
kept  up  his  respectability  in  the  village  by  keeping 
a horse. 

“ Beneath  the  protecting  shade  of  these  great  men, 
full  many  an  inhabitant  of  El  Pardillo  was  born  and 
buried.  The  village  continued  to  flourish,  a quiet, 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIKST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  151 


happy  place,  though  all  unknown  to  fame.  The  in- 
habitants were  orderly  and  industrious,  went  regu- 
larly to  mass  and  confession,  kept  every  saint’s  day 
in  the  calendar,  and  devoutly  hung  Judas  once  a 
year  in  effigy.  On  Sundays  and  all  other  holidays, 
when  mass  was  over,  the  time  was  devoted  to  sports 
and  recreation ; and  the  day  passed  off  in  social  visit- 
ing, and  athletic  exercises,  such  as  running,  leaping, 
wrestling,  pitching  quoits,  and  heaving  the  bar. 
When  evening  came,  the  merry  sound  of  the  guitar 
summoned  to  the  dance ; then  every  nook  and  alley 
poured  forth  its  youthful  company,  light  of  heart 
and  heel,  and  decked  out  in  all  the  holiday  finery  of 
flowers  and  ribbons  and  crimson  sashes.  A group 
gathered  before  the  cottage-door ; the  signal  was 
given ; and  away  whirled  the  merry  dancers  to  the 
wild  music  of  voice  and  guitar,  and  the  measured 
beat  of  Castanet  and  tambourine. 

“I  love  these  rural  dances, — from  my  heart  I love 
them.  This  world,  at  best,  is  so  full  of  care  and 
sorrow,  — the  life  of  a poor  man  is  so  stained  with 
the  sweat  of  his  brow,  — there  is  so  much  toil  and 
struggling  and  anguish  and  disappointment  here 
below,  that  I gaze  with  delight  on  a scene  where  all 
these  are  laid  aside  and  forgotten,  and  the  heart  of 
the  toil-worn  peasant  seems  to  throw  off  its  load,  and 
to  leap  to  the  sound  of  music,  when  merrily, 

“ ‘ Beneath  soft  eve’s  consenting  star, 
Fandango  twirls  his  jocund  castanet.’ 

“ Not  many  miles  from  the  village  of  El  Pardillo 
stands  the  ruined  castle  of  Villafranca,  an  ancient 


152 


HKNllY  WADSWORTH  LONG  li'ELLOW. 


stronghold  of  the  Moors  of  the  fifteenth  century.  It 
is  built  upon  the  summit  of  a hill,  of  easy  ascent 
u})on  one  side,  but  precipitous  and  inaccessible  on 
the  other. 

“One  holiday,  when  mass  was  said  and  the  whole 
village  was  let  loose  to  pla}%  we  made  a pilgrimage 
to  the  ruins  of  this  old  Moorish  alcazar.  Our  caval- 
cade was  as  motley  as  that  of  old,  — the  pilgrims 
‘ that  toward  Canterbury  wolden  ride ; ’ for  we  had 
the  priest,  and  the  doctor  of  physic,  and  the  man  of 
laws,  and  a wife  of  Bath,  and  man}^  more  whom  I 
must  leave  unsung.  Merrily  flew  the  hours  and  fast : 
and,  sitting  after  dinner  iii  the  gloomy  hall  of  that 
old  castle,  many  a tale  was  told,  and  many  a legend 
and  tradition  of  the  past  conjured  u])  to  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  the  present.” 

Quitting  Madrid,  Longfellow  visited  the  plains  of 
La  Mancha.  On  the  fourth  day  of  the  journey,  he 
came  to  Manzanares,  where  he  dined,  was  shaved  by 
the  village  barber,  and  then  was  variously  enter- 
tained by  one  of  the  characters  of  the  place.  On 
the  twelfth  day  he  arrived  at  Seville,  that  “pleas- 
ant city,  famous  for  oranges  and  women.”  He  was 
disappointed  at  finding  it  less  beautiful  than  his  im- 
agination had  pictured  it.  He  was  disappointed  in 
another  respect,  — he  had  come  all  the  way  from 
Madrid  to  Seville  without  being  robbed ! 

His  impression  of  Cadiz  was  more  favorable.  In- 
deed, he  thought  it  “ beautiful  almost  beyond  imagi- 
nation.” As  he  journeyed  onward,  and  crossed  tlie 
Sierra  Nevada,  lie  overtook  a solitary  rider,  who  was 
singing  a wild  national  song,  to  cheer  the  loneliness 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  153 


of  liis  journey.  This  personage  was  a contraband- 
ista,  — a smuggler  between  Granada  and  the  seaport 
of  Velez-Malaga.  The  contrabandista  accompanied 
Longfellow  to  Granada,  wliich  they  together  entered 
on  a Saturday  night.  The  following  morning  Long- 
fellow visited  the  Alhambra,  of  which  he  thus 
writes : — 

“ This  morning  I visited  the  Alhambra,  an  en- 
chanted palace,  whose  exquisite  beauty  baffles  the 
power  of  language  to  describe.  Its  outlines  may  be 
drawn,  its  halls  and  galleries,  its  court-yards  and  its 
fountains,  numbered ; but  what  skilful  limner  shall 
portray  in  words  its  curious  architecture,  the  gro- 
tesque ornaments,  the  quaint  devices,  the  rich  tra- 
cery of  the  walls,  the  ceilings  inlaid  Avith  pearl  and 
tortoise-shell?  what  language  paint  the  magic  lines 
of  light  and  shade,  the  shimmer  of  the  sunbeam  as 
it  falls  upon  the  marble  pavement,  and  the  brilliant 
panels  inlaid  with  many-colored  stones?  Vague  rec- 
ollections fill  my  mind,  — images  dazzling  but  unde- 
fined, like  the  memory  of  a gorgeous  dream.  They 
crowd  my  brain  confusedly,  but  they  will  not  stay. 
They  change  and  mingle,  like  the  tremulous  sunshine 
on  the  wave,  till  imagination  itself  is  dazzled,  bewil- 
dered, overpowered  I 

“ What  most  arrests  the  stranger’s  foot  within  the 
walls  of  the  Alhambra  is  the  refinement  of  luxury 
which  he  sees  at  every  step.  He  lingers  in  the  de- 
serted bath  : he  j)auses  to  gaze  upon  the  now  vacant 
saloon,  where,  stretclied  upon  his  gilded  couch,  the 
effeminate  monarch  of  the  East  was  wooed  to  sleep 
by  softly  breathing  music.  What  more  delightful 


154 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


than  this  secluded  garden,  green  with  the  leaf  of  the 
myrtle  and  the  orange,  and  freshened  with  the  gusli 
of  fouiftains,  beside  whose  basin  the  nightingale  still 
wooes  the  blushing  rose  ? What  more  fanciful,  more 
exquisite,  more  like  a creation  of  Oriental  magic, 
than  the  lofty  tower  of  the  Tocador,  its  airy  sculp- 
ture resembling  the  fretwork  of  wintry  frost,  and 
its  windows  overlooking  the  romantic  valley  of  the 
Darro,  and  the  city,  with  its  gardens,  domes,  and 
spires  far,  far  below  ? Cool  through  this  lattice 
comes  the  summer- wind  from  the  icy  summits  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada.  Softly  in  yonder  fountain  falls 
the  crystal  water,  dripping  from  its  marble  vase  with 
never-ceasing  sound.  On  every  side  comes  up  the 
fragrance  of  a thousand  flowers,  the  murmur  of  in- 
numerable leaves ; and  overhead  is  a sky  where  not 
a vapor  floats,  as  soft  and  blue  and  radiant  as  the 
eye  of  childhood ! 

“Such  is  the  Alhambra  of  Granada;  a fortress, — 
a palace,  — an  earthly  paradise,  — a ruin,  wonderful 
in  its  fallen  greatness  ! ” 

Longfellow  prolonged  his  wanderings  in  France 
and. Spain  till  the  winter  season  had  fairly  set  in; 
and  on  the  15th  of  December,  1827,  he  set  out  to 
make  a tour  into  Italy.  At  Marseilles  he  had  met  and 
become  acquainted  with  a pilgrim-scholar  like  him- 
self, George  Washington  Greene  of  East  Greenwich, 
R.I.,  who  had  been  obliged  to  leave  college  in  conse- 
quence of  ill  health,  and  who  had  now  gone  to 
Europe  for  the  purpose  of  recuperation.  Greene 
was  a young  man  of  generous  impulses,  a hard  and 
ambitious  student,  and  a trusty  and  faithful  friend. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  155 


The  first  meeting  of  these  two  spirits  was  one  by  the 
merest  chance,  but  out  of  it  sprang  a most  intimate 
and  life-long  attachment. 

Longfellow  started  with  Greene  from  Marseilles, 
and,  taking  the  seashore-road  through  Toulon,  Dra- 
guignan,  and  Nice,  journeyed  on  to  Genoa.  At 
Toulon  the  party  took  a private  carriage  in  order  to 
pursue  the  tour  more  leisurely  and  more  at  ease. 
On  the  24th,  Genoa  was  reached,  — Genoa,  the  city 
of  palaces.  He  writes,  — 

“ It  was  Christmas  eve,  — a glorious  night ! I 
stood  at  midnight  on  the  wide  terrace  of  our  hotel, 
which  overlooks  the  sea,  and,  gazing  on  the  tiny 
and  crisping  waves  that  broke  in  pearly  light  be- 
neath the  moon,  sent  back  my  wandering  thoughts 
far  over  the  sea,  to  a distant  home.  The  jangling 
music  of  church-bells  aroused  me  from  my  dream. 
It  was  the  sound  of  jubilee  at  the  approaching  festi- 
val of  the  Nativity,  and  summoned  alike  the  pious 
devotee,  the  curious  stranger,  and  the  gallant  lover 
to  the  church  of  the  Annunziata. 

“I  descended  from  the  terrace,  and,  groping  my 
way  through  one  of  the  dark  and  narrow  lanes  which 
intersect  the  city  in  all  directions,  soon  found  myself 
in  the  Strada  Nuova.  The  long  line  of  i)alaces  lay 
half  in  shadow,  half  in  light,  sti-etching  before  me  in 
magical  perspective,  like  the  long,  vapory  opening  of 
a cloud  in  the  summer  sky.  Following  the  various 
groups  that  were  passing  onward  towards  the  pub- 
lic square,  I entered  the  church,  wliere  midnight 
mass  was  to  be  chanted.  A dazzling  blaze  of  light 
from  the  high  altar  shone  upon  the  red  marble  col- 


156 


lENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


limns  which  support  the  roof,  and  fell  with  a solemn 
effect  upon  the  kneeling  crowd  that  filled  the  body 
of  the  church.  All  beyond  was  in  darkness ; and 
from  that  darkness  at  intervals  burst  forth  the  deep 
voice  of  the  organ  and  the  chanting  of  the  choir, 
filling  the  soul  with  solemnity  and  awe.  And  yet 
among  that  prostrate  crowd,  how  many  had  been 
drawn  thither  by  unworthy  motives, — motives  even 
more  unworthy  than  mere  idle  curiosity  I How  many 
sinful  purposes  arose  in  souls  uupurified,  and  mocked 
at  the  bended  knee ! How  many  a heart  beat  wild 
with  earthly  passion,  while  the  unconscious  lip  re- 
peated the  accustomed  prayer ! Immortal  spirit ! 
canst  thou  so  heedlessly  resist  the  imploring  voice 
that  calls  thee  from  thine  errors  and  pollutions  ? Is 
not  the  long  day  long  enough,  is  not  the  wide  world 
wide  enough,  has  not  society  frivolity  enough  for 
thee,  that  thou  shouldst  seek  out  this  midnight  hour, 
this  holy  place,  this  solemn  sacrifice,  to  add  irrever- 
•ence  to  thy  folly  ? 

“ The  city  of  Genoa  is  magnificent  in  parts,  but 
not  as  a whole.  The  houses  are  high,  and  the  streets 
in  general  so  narrow,  that  in  many  of  them  you  may 
almost  step  across  from  side  to  side.  They  are  built 
to  receive  the  cool  sea-breeze,  and  shut  out  the  burn- 
ing sun.  Only  three  of  them  — if  my  memory  serves 
me  — are  wide  enough  to  admit  the  passage  of  car- 
riages ; and  these  three  form  but  one  continuous 
street,  — the  street  of  palaces.  They  are  the  Strada 
Nuova,  the  Strada  Novissima,  and  the  Strada  Balbi, 
which  connect  the  Piazza  Amorosa  with  the  Piazza 
deir  Annunziata.  These  palaces,  the  Doria,  the  Du- 


LONGFELLOW'S  FIEST  VISIT  TO  EUEOPE.  157 


razzo,  the  Ducal  Palace,  and  others  of  less  magnifi- 
cence, with  their  vast  halls,  their  marble  staircases, 
vestibules,  and  terraces,  and  the  aspect  of  splendor 
and  munificence  they  wear,  have  given  this  com- 
mercial city  the  title  of  Genoa  the  Superb.  And,  as 
if  to  humble  her  pride,  some  envious  rival  among  the 
Italian  cities  has  launched  at  her  a biting  sarcasm  in 
the  well-known  proverb,  ‘‘Mare  senza  pesce^  uomini 
senza  fede^  e donne  senza  vergogna^'  — ‘ A sea  without 
fish,  men  without  faith,  and  women  without  shame  I ’ ” 
The  tarry  at  Genoa  was  not  long;  and  the  little 
party  went  next  to  Lucca,  thence  to  Pisa,  and  finally 
to  Florence,  where  they  took  lodgings,  and  lingered 
for  a few  days.  I quote,  — 

“ From  Florence  to  Rome  I travelled  with  a vettu- 
rino,  by  the  way  of  Siena.  We  were  six  days  upon 
the  road,  and,  like  Peter  Rugg  in  the  story-book, 
were  followed  constantly  by  clouds  and  rain.  At 
times  the  sun,  not  all-forgetful  of  the  world,  peeped 
from  beneath  his  cowl  of  mist,  and  kissed  the  swarthy 
face  of  his  beloved  land,  and  then,  like  an  anchor- 
ite, withdrew  again  from  earth,  and  gave  himself  to 
heaven.  Day  after  day  the  mist  and  the  rain  were  my 
fellow-travellers ; and  as  I sat  wrapped  in  the  thick 
folds  of  m}^  Spanish  cloak,  and  looked  out  upon  the  ^ 
misty  landscape  and  the  leaden  sky,  I was  continu- 
ally saying  to  myself,  ‘ Can  this  be  Italy  ? ’ and  smil- 
ing at  the  untravelled  credulity  of  those,  who,  amid 
the  storms  of  a northern  winter,  give  way  to  the 
illusions  of  fancy,  and  dream  of  Italy  as  a sunny 
land,  where  no  wintry  tempest  beats,  and  where, 
even  in  January,  the  pale  invalid  may  go  about 


158 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


without  his  umbrella  or  his  India-rubber  walk-in- 
the-waters. 

“Notwithstanding  all  this,  with  the  help  of  a good 
constitution  and  a thick  pair  of  boots,  I contrived 
to  see  all  that  was  to  be  seen  upon  the  road.  I 
walked  down  the  long  hillside  at  San  Lorenzo,  and 
along  the  border  of  the  Lake  of  Bolsena,  which, 
veiled  in  the  driving  mist,  stretched,  like  an  inland 
sea,  beyond  my  ken  ; and  through  the  sacred  forest 
of  oak,  held  in  superstitious  reverence  by  the  peas- 
ant, and  inviolate  from  his  axe.  I passed  a night  at 
Montefiascone,  renowned  for  a delicate  Muscat  wine, 
whicli  bears  the  name  of  Est,  and  made  a midnight 
pilgrimage  to  the  tomb  of  the  Bishop  John  Defou- 
cris,  who  died  a martyr  to  his  love  of  this  wine  of 
Moiitefiascone. 

“ ‘ Propter  nimium  Est,  Est,  Est, 

Dominus  mens  mortuus  est.’ 

A marble  slab  in  the  pavement,  worn  by  the  foot- 
steps of  pilgrims  like  myself,  covers  the  dominie’s 
ashes.  There  is  a rude  figure  carved  upon  it,  at 
whose  feet  I traced  out  the  cabalistic  words,  ‘Est, 
Est,  Est.’  The  remainder  of  the  inscription  was 
illegible  by  the  flickering  light  of  the  sexton’s  lan- 
tern. 

“ At  Baccano,  I first  caught  sight  of  the  dome  of 
Saint  Peter’s.  We  had  entered  the  desolate  Cam- 
pagna;  we  passed  the  tomb  of  Nero;  we  approached 
the  Eternal  City;  but  no  sound  of  active  life,  no 
thronging  crowds,  no  hum  of  busy  men,  announced 
that  we  were  near  the  gates  of  Rome.  All  was 
silence,  solitude,  and  desolation.” 


Longfellow’s  first  visit  to  Europe.  159 


But  I have  not  space  to  give  all  the  details  of 
the  various  Italian  journeys  which  were  made  in 
the  course  of  the  year  1828.  Of  one  alone  it  is 
necessary  to  speak,  however,  on  account  of  the  later 
interest  attached  to  it.  In  the  month  of  April, 
Longfellow  and  Greene  found  themselves  together  at 
Naples.  What  they  were  doing  is  shown  by  the  fol- 
lowing letter,  written  by  Greene,  and  dated  April  3, 
1867. 

“My  DEAR  Longfellow, — Thirty-nine  years  ago  this 
month  of  April,  you  and  I were  together  at  Naples,  wan- 
dering up  and  down  amid  the  wonders  of  that  historieal 
city,  and,  consciously  in  some  things  and  unconsciously 
in  others,  laying  up  those  precious  associations  which  are 
youth’s  best  preparation  for  age.  We  were  young  then, 
with  life  all  before  us  ; and,  in  the  midst  of  the  records 
of  a great  past,  our  thougiits  would  still  turn  to  our  own 
future.  Yet,  even  in  looking  forward,  they  caught  the 
coloring  of  that  past,  making  things  bright  to  our  eyes, 
which,  from  a purely  American  point  of  view,  would  have 
worn  a different  aspect.  From  then  till  now  the  spell  of 
those  days  has  been  upon  us. 

“One  day  — I shall  never  forget  it  — we  returned  at 
sunset  from  a long  afternoon  amid  the  statues  and  relics 
of  the  Museo  Borbonico.  Evening  was  coming  on  with 
a sweet  promise  of  the  stars  ; and  our  minds  and  hearts 
were  so  full  that  we  could  not  think  of  shutting  ourselves 
up  in  our  rooms,  or  of  mingling  with  the  crowd  on  the 
Toledo.  We  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  yet  to  feel  that 
there  was  life  all  around  us.  We  went  up  to  the  flat  roof 
of  the  house,  where,  as  we  walked,  we  could  look  down 
into  the  crowded  street,  and  out  upon  the  wonderful  bay, 
and  across  the  bay  to  Ischia  and  Capri  and  Sorrento,  and 


1(J0 


HiiNKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


over  the  housetops  and  villas  and  vineyards  to  Vesuvius. 
The  ominous  pillar  of  smoke  hung  suspended  above  the 
fatal  mountain,  reminding  us  of  Pliny,  its  first  and  noble 
victim.  A golden  vapor  crowned  the  bold  promontory  of 
Sorrento,  and  we  thought  of  Tasso.  Capri  was  calmly 
sleeping,  like  a sea-bird  upon  the  waters  ; and  we  seemed 
to  hear  the  voice  of  Tacitus  from  across  the  gulf  of  eigh- 
teen centuries,  telling  us  that  the  historian’s  pen  is  still 
powerful  to  absolve  or  condemn  long  after  the  imperial 
sceptre  has  fallen  from  the  withered  hand.  There,  too, 
lay  the  native  island  of  him  whose  daring  mind  conceived 
the  fearful  vengeance  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers.  We  did 
not  yet  know  Nicolini,  but  his  grand  verses  had  already 
begun  the  work  of  regeneration  in  the  Italian  heart.  Vir- 
gil’s tomb  was  not  far  off.  The  spot  consecrated  by  San- 
nazzaro’s  ashes  was  near  us  ; and  over  all,  with  a thrill 
like  that  of  solemn  music,  fell  the  splendor  of  the  Italian 
sunset. 

We  talked  and  mused  by  turns,  till  the  twilight  deep- 
ened, and  the  stars  came  forth  to  mingle  their  mysterious 
influence  with  the  overmastering  magic  of  the  scene.  It 
was  then  that  you  unfolded  to  me  your  plans  of  life,  and 
showed  me  from  what  ‘ deep  cisterns  ’ you  had  already 
learned  to  draw.  From  that  day  the  office  of  literature 
took  a new  place  in  my  thoughts.  I felt  its  forming 
power  as  I had  never  felt  it  before,  and  began  to  look 
with  a calm  resignation  upon  its  trials,  and  with  true 
appreciation  upon  its  reward.  Thenceforth,  little  as  I 
have  done  of  what  I wished  to  do,  literature  has  been  the 
inspiration,  the  guide,  and  the  eomfort,  of  my  life.  And 
now,  in  giving  to  the  world  the  first,  perhaps  the  only,  work 
for  which  I dare  hope  a life  beyond  my  own,  the  memory 
of  tliose  days  comes  back  to  me,  and  tells  me,  that,  loving 
me  still  in  the  fulness  of  your  fame  as  you  loved  me  in 


Longfellow’s  first  visit  to  Europe.  161 

the  hour  of  aspiration,  you  will  not  be  unwilling  to  see 
your  name  united  with  mine  upon  these  pages,  which,  but 
for  your  counsel  and  your  sympathy,  would  never  have 
been  written.”  ^ 


In  midsummer  Longfellow  was  again  in  Rome.  ' 
His  lodgings  were  in  a private  house  in  the  Piazza 
Navona,  the  very  heart  of  the  city.  Of  his  manner 
of  life  here  he  writes,  — 

“ My  mornings  are  spent  in  visiting  the  wonders 
of  Rome,  in  studying  the  miracles  of  ancient  and 
modern  art,  or  in  reading  at  the  public  libraries. 
We  breakfast  at  noon,  and  dine  at  eight  in  the  even- 
ing. After  dinner  comes  the  conversazione^  enli- 
vened with  music,  and  the  meeting  of  travellers, 
artists,  and  literary  men  from  every  quarter  of  the 
globe.  At  midnight,  when  the  crowd  is  gone,  I re- 
tire to  my  chamber,  and,  poring  over  tlie  gloomy 
pages  of  Dante  or  ‘ Bandello’s  Laughing  Tale,’  pro- 
tract my  nightly  vigil  till  the  morning  star  is  in  the 
sky. 


“ Our  windows  look  out  upon  the  square,  which 
circumstance  is  a source  of  infinite  enjoyment  to 
me.  Directly  in  front,  with  its  fantastic  belfries  and 
swelling  dome,  rises  the  church  of  St.  Agnes ; and, 
sitting  by  the  open  window,  I note  the  busy  scene 
below,  enjoy  the  cool  air  of  morning  and  evening, 
and  even  feel  the  freshness  of  the  fountain,  as  its 
waters  leap  in  mimic  cascades  down  the  sides  of  the 


rock.” 


Tlie  mouth  of  September  was  spent  at  the  vil- 


1 Dedication,  in  the  Life  of  Nathanael  Greene. 


162 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


lage  of  La  Riccia,  wliich  stands  upon  the  western 
declivity  of  the  Albanian  Hills,  looking  towards 
Rome.  “My  daily  occupations  in  this  delightful 
spot,”  writes  Longfellow  again,  “ were  such  as  an  idle 
man  usually  whiles  away  his  time  withal  in  such  a 
rural  residence.  I read  Italian  poetry,  strolled  in 
the  Chigi  Park,  rambled  about  the  wooded  environs 
of  the  village,  took  an  airing  on  a jackass,  threw 
stones  into  the  Alban  Lake,  and,  being  seized  at 
intervals  with  the  artist-mania,  that  came  upon  me 
like  an  intermittent  fever,  sketched  — or  thought  I 
did  — the  trunk  of  a hollow  tree,  or  the  spire  of  a 
distant  church,  or  a fountain  in  the  shade.”  ^ 

At  the  close  of  autumn,  Longfellow  left  Rome 
for  Venice,  “crossing  the  Apennines  by  the  wild 
gorge  of  the  Strettura,  in  a drenching  rain.”  From 
Venice  he  went  to  Trieste,  and  thence  to  Vienna. 
From  Vienna  he  passed  northward,  visiting  Prague, 
Dresden,  and  Leipsic ; and  then,  for  a few  months, 
he  settled  himself  down  in  the  scholastic  shades  of 
Gottingen.  Having  completed  a course  of  study  at 
the  university,  he  passed  on  to  Frankfort-on-the- 
Main ; thence  to  Mayence,  wliere  he  took  steamer 
down  the  Rhine.  The  rest  of  his  wanderings  lay 
through  the  sands  of  Holland,  and  thence,  by  way 
of  England,  liome. 

1 From  Outre-Mer,  edition  1835, 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  VISIT  TO  EUROPE.  163 


CHAPTER  VI. 


LONGFELLOW  A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


R.  LONGFELLOW  began  his  instruction  in 


Bowdoin  College  in  the  month  of  September, 
1829.  He  was  then  a young  man  of  twenty-two, 
with  a reputation  already  won  by  his  “ April  Day  ” 
and  his  “Woods  in  Winter,”  poems  which  had  not 
only  been  extensively  copied  by  the  newspapers, 
but  had  also  found  a place  in  several  of  the  school- 
readers  in  use  at  that  time.  He  was,  moreover,  fully 
equipped  for  his  new  position  ; for,  to  the  attainments 
afforded  by  a college  education,  he  added  the  rich 
experiences  of  a long  residence  abroad. 

“ My  recollections  of  Professor  Longfellow,”  writes 
one  of  the  members  of  the  class  of  1830,  “are  as 
fresh  as  though  it  was  but  yesterday  that  I saw  him 
come  into  the  classroom  for  the  first  time.  He  was, 
of  course,  the  youngest  member  of  the  faculty ; but 
he  certainly  commanded  as  mucli  respect  as  did  any 
of  the  older  teachers.  His  manner  was  invariably 
gentle,  and  full  of  that  charming  courtesy  which  it 
never  lacked  throughout  liis  whole  life.  At  tlie 
same  time,  he  never  forgot  his  position ; he  ever 
manifested  a consciousness  that  he  himself  was  the 


(1829-1835.) 


1G4 


lENUV  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


instructor,  mid  wo  the  instructed ; he  the  man  at 
the  wheel,  we  the  ones  to  show  respect  and  confi- 
dence. He  was  always  on  the  alert,  cpiick  to  hear, 
and  ready  to  respond.  We  were  fond  of  him  from 
the  start : his  speech  charmed  ns ; his  earnest  and 
dignified  demeanor  inspired  us ; and  his  erect,  manly 
form  excited  our  admiration.  A Letter  teacher,  a 
kindlier  heart,  a more  sympathetic  friend,  never  ad- 
dressed a class  of  }"oung  men.  If  he  had  not  won 
renown  as  the  most  beloved  of  American  poets,  he 
could  not  have  failed  to  become  famous  as  an  Ameri- 
can teacher.  When  I recall  how  anxious  he  ever 
was  for  our  progress,  how  hard  he  worked  to  push 
us  along,  I cannot  refrain  from  quoting  one  of  his 
own  stanzas,  — the  one  which,  to  my  mind,  so  beauti- 
fully expresses  the  motive  by  which  he  was  always 
governed  in  his  capacity  as  an  instructor : — 

“ ‘ Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 

But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Find  us  farther  than  to-day.’  ” 

A similar  tribute  of  respect  is  paid  by  another 
graduate  of  Bowdoin,  President  Hamlin  of  Middle- 
bury  College.  “When  I entered  Bowdoin  College 
in  1830,”  he  writes,  “ Professor  Longfellow  had  occu- 
])ied  the  chair  but  one  year.  Our  class  numbered 
fifty-two,  the  largest  freshman  class  that  had,  up  to 
that  time,  entered  college  ; and  many  of  its  members 
were  attracted  by  Longfellow’s  reputation.  His  in- 
tercourse with  the  students  was  perfectly  simple, 
frank,  and  gentlemanly.  He  neither  flattered  nor 


At  the  Age  of  Twenty-Five, 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE. 


165 


repelled:  he  neither  sought  popularity  nor  avoided 
it.  He  was  a close  and  ardent  student  in  all  Spanish 
and  French  literature.  lie  had  no  time  to  fritter 
aAvay.  But  he  always  and  evidently  enjoyed  having 
students  come  to  him  with  any  reasonable  question 
about  languages,  autliors,  literature,  mediaeval  or 
modern  history,  more  especially  the  former.  They 
always  left  him,  not  only  with  admiration,  but  guided 
and  helped  and  inspired.” 

Longfellow  was  not  only  beloved  by  the  students, 
but  he  was  also  highly  esteemed  by  all  his  associates 
in  the  facidty.  Only  one  of  that  famous  body  still 
lives,  the  venerable  Rev.  Dr.  Packard.  It  is  his  tes- 
timony that  Longfellow  “ assumed  the  duties  of  the 
office,  which  he  faithfully  and  successfully  performed 
until,  with  the  regret  and  disappointment  of  his  col- 
leagues and  the  authorities  of  the  college,  he  accepted 
a similar  position  at  Harvard.” 

The  same  authority  states  further  that,  “ Long- 
fellow approved  himself  a teaclier  who  never  wearied 
of  his  work.  He  won  by  his  gentle  grace,  and  com- 
manded respect  by  his  self-respect,  and  his  respect 
for  his  office,  never  allowing  an  infringement  of  the 
decorum  of  the  recitation-room.” 

As  we  have  already  seen,  the  department  of  modern 
languages  and  literature  was  a new  one  in  tlie  college  ; 
and,  after  the  various  steps  at  organization  had  been 
taken,  it  next  became  necessary  to  provide  for  the 
text-books.  This  responsibility  devolved  upon  the 
young  professor ; and  how  well  he  acquitted  himself, 
it  will  soon  appear. 

One  of  his  first  acts,  as  a professor,  was  to  supply 


166 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


the  deficiency  existing  of  a suitable  text-book  on 
the  study  of  the  French  language.  He  surveyed  the 
field  thoroughly,  examined  carefully  such  books  as 
had  already  been  published,  and  decided  at  length  to 
translate  and  edit  a work  by  a foreign  author,  rather 
than  to  prepare  an  original  work.  Charles  Fran9ois 
L’Hoinond,  a professor  in  the  University  of  Paris, 
was  the  author  of  a small  elementary  grammar, 
which  had  found  favor  on  the  continent  of  Europe, 
and  of  which  several  copies  had  found  their  way  to 
this  country,  where  they  were  in  use  among  private 
instructors.  The  work  had  never,  however,  been 
translated.  Longfellow  undertook  the  task  of  pre- 
paring an  English  version  of  the  work,  and  of  adding 
such  notes  and  illustrations  as  were  deemed  necessary 
for  American  schools  and  colleges.  It  was  completed 
and  published  in  the  year  1830,  and  was  at  once 
adopted  as  a text-book,  not  only  in  Bowdoin  College, 
but  also  in  many  other  institutions  of  learning,  both 
public  and  private.  The  book  passed  rapidly  through 
many  editions,  and  for  a long  time  was  regarded  by 
teachers  as  the  best  French  grammar  in  use  in  Amer- 
ica. It  was  not  completely  superseded  until  twenty 
years  after  the  period  of  its  first  publication. ^ 

1 The  full  title  is  as  follows:  Elements  of  French  Grammar. 

By  M.  L’Homond,  Professeur-Eremite  in  the  University  of  Paris. 
Translated  from  the  French,  with  Notes  and  such  Illustrations  as 
were  thought  necessary  for  the  American  Pupil.  For  the  use  of 
Schools.  By  an  Instructor.  Samuel  Colman:  Portland.  Griffin’s 
Press:  Brunswick.  1830.  [12rao.  pp,  108.] 

In  the  same  year  Professor  Longfellow  prepared  for  the  use  of 
his  classes  two  other  works  : — 

1.  Manuel  de  Proverbes  Dramatiques.  Portland  : S.  Colman. 

1830. 


A PROFESSOR  IX  BOWDOIX  COLLEGE.  167 


In  April,  1831,  appeared  Professor  Longfellow’s 
first  contribution  to  “ The  North  American  Review.” 
It  was  entitled  the  “ Origin  and  Progress  of  the 
French  Language,”  and  extended  over  forty  pages 
of  the  periodical.  After  the  usual  custom,  it  bore  no 
signature.  In  this  article,  which  is  characterized  by 
a high  degree  of  scholarship  and  accuracy  of  interpre- 
tation, the  author  began  at  the  beginning. 

“It  is  our  intention,”  he  stated,  “in  the  present 
article  to  give  our  readers  some  account  of  the  origin 
and  progress  of  the  French  language,  — ‘a  tongue 
most  dear  unto  thee,’  as  the  ecclesiastical  historian, 
Howell,  says,  ‘if  thou  beest  not  a pedant,  a mere 
Englishman,  art  a traveller,  and  hast  any  thing  in 
thee  of  good  breeding.’  The  works,  whose  titles  stand 
at  the  head  of  this  article,  are  the  sources  from  which 
we  shall  draw  most  of  our  facts  and  illustrations  in 
reference  to  the  subject  before  us  ; ^ and,  in  order  to 
execute  our  task  the  more  efficiently,  we  shall  com- 
mence with  the  earliest  existing  monuments  of  the 
ancient  Romance^  or  Roman  Rustic  language,  and,  by 
reference  to  literary  documents  of  successive  periods, 
trace  the  progress  and  improvement  of  the  French 
down  to  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  when,  to 

2.  Montgomery,  Jorge  [Washington].  Novelas  Espanolas. 

El  Serrano  de  las  Alpujarras;  y El  Cuadro  Misterioso. 

[Brunswick:  Griffin.  18.*0.] 

1 The  following  were  the  sources  named  at  the  head  of  the  arti- 
cle: — 

1.  Choix  des  Po€sies  orir/inales  des  Troubadoiti's.  Par  M.  Ray- 
nouard. 

2.  Second  M^moire  su7'  Vorigme  et  les  Revolutions  de  la  Langue 
Fran(;oise.  Par  M.  Duclos. 

3.  Les  Po'etes  Fi-ampis  depuis  le  XII.  siecle  jusqu'  a Malhei'he. 


1()8  IlENUY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

use  the  quaint  phraseology  of  an  old  writer,  it  had 
\)QCin\\Q  gente^  propice^  auffisante  asnez  et  du  tout  elegante 
'pour  exprimer  de  bonne  fog  tout  ce  que  V ou  ngaurolt 
exaoglter^  soit  en  amours  ou  autrementy 

The  author  then  proceeds  to  trace  the  origin  of 
the  French  language  from  the  corrupted  union  of  the 
Latin  with  the  northern  dialects  of  Gaul ; then  speaks 
of  the  Homan  Hustle^  and  cites  a specimen  of  it  as 
it  was  spoken  in  France  during  the  first  half  of  the 
ninth  century ; also  specimens  of  the  religious  poems 
and  other  devotional  writings  of  the  Vv^aldensians. 
lie  next  gives  extracts  from  the  poesy  of  the  Trou- 
badours, and  lays  down  the  assertion  that,  “ the 
difference  between  the  Waldensian  and  the  Proven- 
gal  is  very  trifling,  and  confined  almost  entirely  to 
the  terminations  of  words.”  He  now  proceeds  to 
show  how  the  Roman  Wallon  dialect  was  developed 
in  the  provinces  north  of  the  Loire ; how  that  in  the 
tenth  century  it  became  the  court-language  of  William 
Longue-Epee,  Duke  of  Normandy,  and,  at  the  reign 
of  William  the  Conqueror,  it  was  called  French.  At 
the  close  of  the  eleventh  century,  it  ceased  to  be 
called  the  Roman  Wallon.  The  remainder  of  the 
article  deals  with  the  progress  of  the  French  lan- 
guage through  the  thirteenth  century,  on  through 
the  fourteenth,  — the  age  of  Froissart  and  the  famous 
Oliver  Basselin ; on  through  the  fifteenth,  when  “ the 
mists  of  antique  phrase  begin  to  roll  away,  and  we  no 
longer  grope  along  in  the  obscurity  of  a barbarous 
dialect,”  — the  era  of  Charles  d’Orl^ans,  father  of 
Louis  XII. ; and,  finally,  on  through  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  through  the  reign  of  Francis  I.,  sur- 


A PKOFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  169 


named  the  Father  of  Letters.  Numerous  extracts  in 
the  original  and  translations  (I  think  there  is  not 
one  by  the  author)  are  scattered  about  in  the  article, 
which  closes  as  follows  : — 

‘‘But  enough.  We  have  thus  taken  a rapid,  and 
in  some  respects  a superficial,  view  of  the  origin  and 
progress  of  the  French  language.  We  have  pur- 
posely confined  ourselves  to  the  general  outline  of 
the  subject,  rather  than  to  seeking  derivations  and 
tracing  out  analogies.  When  Manage  published  his 
learned  and  critical  work  upon  this  subject,  it  was 
said  of  him,  ‘ Menage  is  the  most  troublesome  man 
in  the  world  • he  cannot  let  a single  word  go  with- 
out a passport ; he  must  know  whence  it  comes,  the 
road  it  has  pursued,  and  whither  it  is  going.’  We 
have  no  fears  of  falling  under  an  imputation  of  such 
rigid  scrutiny.  The  increasing  attention  paid  to  the 
study  of  the  French  throughout  this  section  of  our 
country,  and  its  importance  as  a branch  of  element- 
ary and  liberal  education,  sufficiently  warrant  us  to 
devote  a few  pages  of  our  journal  to  this  subject; 
and,  in  so  doing,  we  have  dealt  largely  in  extracts 
and  illustrations,  and  have  avoided  trespassing  on 
the  j)recincts  of  etymology,  in  order  to  give  the  sub- 
ject a more  agreeable  aspect  in  the  eyes  of  our 
readers.” 

In  July,  1831,  Joseph  T.  Buckingham  began  the 
publication  in  Boston  of  “The  New-England  Maga- 
zine.” Each  number  comprised  ninety-six  pages, 
was  issued  once  a mouth,  and  on  the  whole  was,  of 
the  kind,  one  of  the  best  periodicals  ever  printed  iu 
this  country.  It  was  published  and  conducted  by 


170 


HKNRV  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Mr.  Buckingham  and  liis  son  until  the  son’s  death  in 
1833,  and  after  that  by  the  father  alone,  who  was  for 
a time  a fair  representative  of  Boston  culture.  In 
1835  it  became  “The  American  Monthly  Magazine,” 
and  the  office  of  publication  was  transferred  to  New 
York. 

Many  persons  contributed  to  the  pages  of  “ The 
New-England  Magazine,”  whose  names  have  since 
become  prominent  in  American  literature.  To  say 
nothing  of  those  whose  work  has  passed  into  ob- 
livion, simply  because  it  was  the  work  of  aspirants 
who  never  came  to  fame,  one  may  read  in  the 
magazine  articles,  sketches,  and  poems  by  Edward 
Everett,  George  S.  Hillard,  Josepli  Story,  Epes  Sar- 
gent, Dr.  S.  G.  Howe,  Richard  Hildreth,  Dr.  Pea- 
body, Dr.  Withington,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  and 
Professor  Longfellow.  But  few  of  the  articles,  how- 
ever, are  signed ; and,  as  might  be  expected,  the 
golden  compensation  allowed  for  them  was  exceed- 
ingl}^  small. ^ 

So  far  as  I am  aware.  Professor  Longfellow’s  con- 
tributions to  the  magazine  are  confined  to  a series  of 
sketches,  which  he  published  at  irregular  intervals, 
under  the  name  or  title  of  “ The  Schoolmaster.” 
These  sketclies  interest  us  from  their  relation  to 

1 It  is  interesting,  as  a bit  of  literary  history,  to  find  that  Dr, 
Holmes  published  a trial  chapter  of  The  Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast- 
Table  in  The  New-England  Magazine;  but  so  completely  had  the 
title  disappeared,  that  but  few  remembered  it  when  he  resumed  it 
twenty-five  years  afterwards  in  the  early  numbers  of  The  Atlantic 
Monthly.  Many  of  his  l)est  poems  also  appeared  in  these  I'tages; 
and  a curious  experiment  headed  Report  of  the  Editorial  Depart- 
ment, and  signed  “ O.  W.  II.,”  will  be  found  in  the  number  for 
January,  IS:;:’.. 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  171 


work  which  he  produced  later,  and  which  he  pub- 
licly acknowledged.  The  first  instalment  of  ‘‘  The 
Schoolmaster”  appeared  in  the  number  for  July, 
1831, — the  initial  number  of  the  magazine.  The 
following  motto  from  Franklin  stands  at  the  head  of 
the  chapter : — 

“My  character,  indeed,  I would  favor  you  with, 
but  that  I am  cautious  of  praising  myself,  lest  I 
should  be  told  my  trumpeter’s  dead ; and  I cannot 
find  in  my  heart  at  present  to  say  any  thing  to  my 
own  disadvantage.” 

The  chapter  is  written  in  the  first  person,  and 
opens  as  follows : — 

“ I am  a schoolmaster  in  the  little  village  of 
Sharon.  A son  of  New  England,  I have  been  edu- 
cated in  all  her  feelings  and  prejudices.  To  her 
maternal  care  I owe  the  little  that  is  good  within 
me ; and  upon  her  bosom  I hope  to  repose  hereafter 
when  my  worldly  task  is  done,  and  my  soul,  like  a 
rejoicing  schoolboy,  shall  close  its  weary  book,  and 
burst  forth  from  this  earthly  schoolhonse.  l\Iy 
childhood  was  passed  at  my  native  village,  in  the 
usual  amusements  and  occupations  of  that  age  ; but, 
as  I grew  up,  I became  satiated  with  the  monotony 
of  my  life.  A restless  spirit  prompted  me  to  visit 
foreign  countries.  I said,  with  the  cosmopolite,  ‘ tlie 
world  is  a kind  of  book  in  which  he  who  has  seen 
his  own  country  only  has  read  but  one  page.’ 
Guided  by  this  feeling,  I became  a traveller.  I have 
traversed  France  on  foot,  smoked  my  pipe  in  a Flem- 
ish inn  ” — 

These  words  now  become  familiar  to  the  reader. 


172 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


for  lie  lit  once  recognizes  in  tliem  the  passage  in  the 
chapter  entitled  “ The  Pilgrim  of  Ontre-Mer.”  The 
Schoolmaster,”  however,  soon  recovers  its  own  sepa- 
rate character;  and,  for  several  pages,  one  reads  of 
the  return  of  the  narrator  to  his  native  village,  and 
thenceforth  of  liis  travels  by  memory. 

The  second  chapter  of  “The  Schoolmaster”  ap- 
peared in  the  number  for  September,  1831,  and  is 
substantially  the  same  as  “ The  Norman  Diligence  ” 
in  “ Outre-Mer.”  In  the  last-named  work,  the  author 
simply  mentions  the  cabaret ; but  in  “ The  School- 
master ” he  sketches  it  fully,  and  introduces  a ver- 
sion of  an  old  French  song  of  the  fifteenth  century. ^ 

The  third  chapter  of  “ The  Schoolmaster  ” was 
published  in  April,  1832.  It  is  entitled  “The  Vil- 
lage of  Auteuil,”  and  is  very  much  the  same  chapter 
as  in  “ Outre-Mer.”  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  Dr. 
Dardonville  in  “The  Schoolmaster”  becomes  Dent- 
delion  in  “ Outre-Mer,”  and  that  some  new  matter  is 
introduced  into  the  last-named  work. 

In  July,  1832,  the  fourth  instalment,  entitled 
“ Recollections  of  ‘the  Metropolis,”  was  printed  ; and 
this  was  followed  by  the  fifth  chapter,  continuing 
the  subject,  in  the  number  for  October  of  the  same 
year.  The  fourth  chapter  gives  the  details  of  a stroll 
in  Paris,  and  the  fifth  continues  the  walk  and  intro- 
duces a romantic  story.  Both  are  omitted  in  “ Outre- 
Mer.”  The  sixth  chapter,  published  in  February, 
1833,  resumes  the  walk,  interrupted  by  the  story, 

1 Longfellow,  in  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,  prints  Oliver 
Basselin’s  modernized  version  of  the  same  song  as  translated  hy 
Oxenford,  hut,  strangely  enough,  says  nothing  of  his  own  earlier 
rendering,  which  is  as  good  if  not  better. 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  173 


and  brings  the  reader  finally  to  the  gates  of  the 
cemetery  of  Pere-la-Chaise.  At  this  point  the  serial 
comes  suddenly  to  an  end,  and  for  this  reason : the 
publication  of  the  first  part  of  “ Outre-Mer,”  con- 
taining, as  we  now  know,  much  of  the  material  used 
in  the  first  three  chapters  of  “ The  Schoolmaster,” 
has  been  commenced.  The  last  three  chapters  of 
“ The  Schoolmaster  ” were  never  reprinted. 

On  Sept.  14,  1831,  Professor  Longfellow  was 
united  in  marriage  to  Mary  Storer  Potter  of  Port- 
land. She  was  the  daughter  of  the  Hon.  Barrett 
Potter  — a judge  of  the  probate  court  — and  Anne 
Storer  Potter.  The  judge  was  well  known,  and 
was  generally  regarded  as  a man  of  strong  character, 
great  severity  of  manners,  and  of  marked  positive- 
ness in  all  his  opinions.  In  regard  to  educational 
matters  he  cherished  most  decided  views.  He  was 
an  old-fashioned  classical  scholar  himself,  and  ar- 
dently believed  that  boys  should  be  nurtured  upon 
Greek  and  Latin  at  the  earliest  moment,  but  that 
girls  should  be  taught  nothing  of  these  languages. 
For  them  he  thought  the  modern  languages,  modern 
literature,  and  natural  science  more  suitable.  His 
daughter  Mary  had  a strong  taste  for  all  modern 
languages,  and  for  mathematics  as  well.  Her  note- 
books, which  are  still  preserved  by  her  family,  “ give 
ample  and  accurate  reports,  recorded  as  being  from 
memory,  of  a series  of  astronomical  lectures ; and 
she  learned  to  calculate  eclipses,  which  must  have 
been  quite  beyond  the  average  attainments  of  young 
girls  of  her  day.”  Before  her  marriage.  Miss  Potter 
was  for  several  years  a i)iipil  of  the  excellent  school 


174 


llENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


of  Miss  Cushing,  at  llingham,  Mass.;  and  it  is  re- 
ported that  “all  lier  school-papers,  abstracts,  and 
compositions  show  a thoughtful  and  well-trained 
mind.  Some  exhibit  a metaphysical  turn ; others 
are  girlish  studies  in  liistory  and  geography ; but 
the  love  of  literature  is  visible  everywhere,  in  co- 
pious extracts  from  the  favorite  authors  of  that  day, 
— Cowper,  Young,  Mrs.  Hemans,  Bernard  Barton, 
and  even  Coleridge  and  Shelley.” 

Of  Mrs.  Longfellow’s  personal  appearance,  and 
qualities  of  mind,  all  who  remember  her  speak  with 
one  voice.  The  characterization  of  one  who  knew 
her  intimately  and  as  a dear  friend  agrees  with  that 
of  every  one  whom  I have  consulted.  “ She  was  a 
lovely  woman,”  writes  this  friend,  “ in  character  and 
appearance.  Gentle,  refined,  and  graceful,  with  an 
attractive  manner  which  won  all  hearts.  The  few 
first  years  of  her  married  life  were  spent  here 
(Brunswick)  ; and,  as  Professor  Longfellow  took  a 
house  in  this  neighborhood,  we  were  on  most  inti- 
mate terms.”  ^ 

As  signified  in  the  foregoing  quotation.  Professor 
Longfellow,  after  his  marriage,  took  his  fair  bride 
to  Brunswick,  where,  in  a simple,  vine-covered  cot- 
tage, he  founded  a home  of  taste,  refinement,  and 
graceful  hospitality.  It  was  here,  in  that  beautiful 
New-England  town,  with  the  river  Androscoggin 
“ on  its  way  ” to  the  sea  at  one  end  of  the  wide 
village-street,  and  at  the  other  the  pine-groves  in 
which  the  college  buildings  stood  secluded,  that 

1 Letter  of  Miss  Emeline  Weld  of  Brunswick,  Me.,  addressed 
to  tlie  author. 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  175 


Longfellow  walked  out  of  his  youth  into  manhood, 
and  “ love’s  young  dream  ” moved  his  inmost  being. 

Just  across  the  fields,  in  those  days,  from  the 
academic  groves,  stood  a large  square  white  house, 
with  four  square  rooms  on  each  of  the  two  stories, 
and  a hallway  running  through  from  west  to  east. 
It  was  a type  of  house  familiar  to  the  last  genera- 
tion, but  now  gradually  disappearing.  This  was  the 
home  of  Professor  Cleaveland,  whom  Longfellow 
loved  as  a father,  and  with  whom,  when  other  duties 
failed  to  call  him  elsewhere,  he  and  Mrs.  Longfellow 
were  wont  to  pass  many  a quiet  evening.  Longfel- 
low still  played  upon  the  flute,  as  in  his  student- 
days  ; and  within  the  hospitable  mansion  of  the 
older  professor  stood  — and  still  stands  — the  piano, 
or  ‘‘  harpsichord,”  that  accompanied  the  poet  when 
he  spoke  with  “ music’s  golden  tongue.”  ^ 

It  is  pleasant  to  reflect  upon  these  early  }’ears  of 
the  poet’s  life,  which  opened  so  happily  and  promised 
so  much.  The  nuptial  event  of  1831  had  a marked 
influence  on  the  development  of  his  genius ; it  gave 
him  new  ideas  and  new  thoughts : and  then  came 
the  sorrowful  sequel,  which  served  to  blend  all  these 
thoughts  and  ideas  into  one  tone  of  sweetness,  not 
the  voice  of  regret,  but  of  patient  resignation,  ap- 

1 Mr.  H.  P.  Chandler’s  recollections.  When  Longfellow  revisited 
Brunswick  in  1875,  he  was  the  guest  of  the  only  surviving  daughter 
of  Professor  Cleaveland.  Soon  after  his  return  to  Cambridge,  he 
sent  her  the  beautiful  poem  beginning,  — 

“ Among  the  many  lives  that  I have  known,”  etc., 

which  I have  reproduced  entire  in  an  earlier  chapter.  In  the  en- 
trance-hall to  the  Cleaveland  Cabinet  at  Bowdoin,  this  poem  in 
manuscript  is  framed  with  a portrait  of  Professor  Cleaveland. 


176 


JIKNKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


pealing  as  it  ever  must  to  the  sympathies  of  the 
human  lieart. 

In  1832  was  published  a “ Syllabus  de  la  Grain- 
maire  italienne.  Par  II.  W.  Longfellow,  professeur 
de  langues  modernes  a Bowdoin-College.”  The  pref- 
ace to  the  work,  written  by  Professor  Longfellow,  is 
somewhat  curious,  and  reads  as  follows : — 

“ J’ai  prepare  cet  Abreg^  de  la  Grammaire  itali- 
enne, non  pour  instruire  ceux  qui  auraient  a parler 
cette  langue,  mais  pour  faciliter  les  progres  de  ceux, 
qui  voudront  I’apprendre  a lire.  Leur  atteindre  ce 
but,  il  sLiffit  d’en  avoir  expose  succinctement  les 
principes.  II  serait  superflu  de  les  developper  dans 
toute  leur  etendue. 

“ J’ai  employe  I’accent  aigu  sur  presque  tous  les 
mots  italiens,  pour  marquer  les  syllabes  sur  les- 
quelles  il  faut  appuyer  la  voix  dans  la  prononcia- 
tion ; mais  il  faut  observer  que  les  Italiens  ne  s’en 
fervent  que  tres  rarement.  On  trouvera  les  regies 
pour  Tusage  de  I’accent  aigu  dans  le  traits  de 
Porthographe  ; voyez  Chapitre  VIII.,  p.  104.”  ^ 

The  work  is  exceedingly  elementary,  though  the 
forms  and  principles  of  the  language  are  stated 

1 Full  title:  Syllabus  de  la  Grammaire  italienne.  Par  H.  W. 
Longfellow,  professeur  de  langues  modernes  a Bowdoin-College. 
A I’usage  de  ceux  qui  possMent  la  langue  franpaise.  Boston  : 
Gray  et  Bowen,  mdcccxxxii.  [12  mo.  pp.  102.] 

To  the  same  year  belong  the  following,  both  of  them  prepared 
by  Professor  Longfellow : — 

1.  Cours  de  Langue  Francaise.  [Boston:  1832.] 

1.  Le  Ministre  de  Wakefield. 

2.  Proverbes  Dramatiques. 

2.  Saggi  de’  Novellieri  Italian!  d’ogni  Secolo:  tratti  da’  pin 

celebri  Scrittori,  con  brevi  Notizie  intorno  alia  Vita  di 
ciascheduno.  [Boston:  1832.] 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  177 


clearly  and  succinctly.  To  such  persons  as  already 
possessed  a reading  familiarity  with  the  French 
tongue,  the  book  must  have  proved  serviceable. 
The  plan  of  the  work  is  excellent ; and  the  wonder 
is,  that  the  same  plan  has  not  been  carried  out  more 
extensively  at  the  present  time.  Such  a book  for 
English-speaking  students  serves  a double  purpose, 

— it  keeps  fresh  the  knowledge  of  one  language 
while  teaching  the  elements  of  another.  The  meth- 
od is  certainly  plausible  and  advantageous. 

In  1832,  in  the  January  number  of  “ The  North 
American  Review,”  Professor  Longfellow  published 
another  article,  covering  thirty-two  pages,  choosing, 
as  his  theme,  “ The  Defence  of  Poetry.”  The  arti- 
cle was  suggested  by  the  republication  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney’s  “ The  Defence  of  Poesie,”  ^ and  was  not  so 
much  a critical  review  of  that  work  as  a chapter  of 
fresh  and  original  thoughts  on  the  state  of  English 
poetry  in  general.  As  miglit  be  expected,  the  writer 
expresses  himself  earnestly  and  forcibly.  “We 
hope,”  he  exclaims,  “ that  Sir  Philip  Sidney’s  ‘ De- 
fence ’ will  be  widely  read  and  long  remembered ! 
Oh  that  in  our  country  it  might  be  the  harbinger  of 
as  bright  an  intellectual  day  as  it  was  in  his  own  ! 
With  us  the  spirit  of  the  age  is  clamorous  for  utility, 

— for  visible,  tangible  utility,  — for  bare,  brawny, 
muscular  utility.  We  would  be  roused  to  action  by 
the  voice  of  the  populace  and  the  sounds  of  tlie 
crowded  mart,  and  not  ‘lulled  asleep  in  shady  idle- 
ness with  poet’s  pastimes.’  We  are  swallowed  up 

1 Republished  in  the  Library  of  the  Old  Ensrbsh  Prose  Writers, 
as  VoL  II.  Cambridge:  Hilliard  and  Brown.  18ol. 


178 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  I.ONGFELLOW. 


ill  schemes  for  gain,  and  engrossed  with  contrivances 
for  bodily  enjoyments,  as  if  this  particle  of  dust  were 
immortal,  — as  if  the  soul  needed  no  aliment,  and 
the  mind  no  raiment.” 

In  the  course  of  this  very  instructive  and  highly 
interesting  article,  so  interesting,  in  fact,  that  one 
could  wish  it  might  be  reprinted  in  a form  more 
accessible  to  the  general  reader,  occurs  the  follow- 
ing : — 

“We  wish  our  native  poets  would  give  a more 
national  character  to  their  writings.  In  order  to 
effect  this,  they  have  only  to  write  more  naturally, 
to  write  from  their  own  feelings  and  impressions, 
from  the  influence  of  what  they  see  around  them, 
and  not  from  any  preconceived  notions  of  what 
poetry  ought  to  be,  caught  by  reading  many  books, 
and  imitating  many  models.  This  is  peculiarly  true 
in  descriptions  of  natural  scenery.  In  these  let  us 
have  no  more  sky-larks  and  nightingales.  For  us 
they  only  warble  in  books.  A painter  might  as  well 
introduce  an  elephant  or  a rhinoceros  into  a New- 
England  landscape.  We  would  not  restrict  our 
poets  in  the  choice  of  their  subjects,  or  the  scenes  of 
their  story ; but  when  they  sing  under  an  American 
sky,  and  describe  a native  landscape,  let  the  descrip- 
tion be  graphic,  as  if  it  had  been  seen  and  not  ima- 
gined.” 

The  article  concludes  in  the  following  manner : — 

“We  have  set  forth  the  portrait  of  modern  poetry 
in  rather  gloomy  colors ; for  we  really  think,  that 
the  greater  }>art  of  what  is  published  in  this  book- 
writing age,  ought,  in  justice,  to  suffer  the  fate  of 


A PHOFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  179 


the  children  of  Thetis,  whose  immortality  was  tried 
by  fire.  We  hope,  however,  that,  ere  long,  some  one 
of  our  most  gifted  bards  will  throw  his  fetters  off, 
and,  relying  on  himself  alone,  fathom  the  recesses  of 
his  own  mind,  and  bring  up  rich  pearls  from  the  se- 
cret depths  of  thought.” 

In  the  April  number  of  “ The  Review,”  the  same 
year,  appeared  Professor  Longfellow’s  third  contri- 
bution, entitled  “ Spanish  Devotional  and  Moral 
Poetry.”  It  covered  nearly  forty  pages.  The 
greater  portion  of  the  article  was  made  up  of  original 
specimens,  with  translations  of  early  Spanish  poetry 
reaching  from  the  thirteenth  to  the  middle  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  This  article  was  subsequently 
reprinted  as  an  introduction  to  Longfellow’s  transla- 
tion of  “ Coplas  de  Manrique.” 

The  October  number  of  “ The  Review,”  same  year, 
contained  an  article  on  the  “ History  of  the  Italian 
Language  and  Dialects,”  written  by  Professor  Long- 
fellow. It  filled  nearly  sixty  pages  of  the  periodical, 
and,  in  its  plan  and  scope,  followed  the  model  of  the 
previous  article  on  the  French  language.  The  au- 
thor, however,  treated  his  subject  in  a more  exhaus- 
tive manner,  and,  I may  add,  with  less  interest  to 
most  readers.  Were  the  editors  of  a magazine,  not 
of  a special  character,  to  print  such  an  article  now- 
adays, it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  journal  would  imme- 
diately forfeit  its  patronage.  What  was  read  and 
appreciated  fifty  years  ago  would  hardly  be  looked 
at  now,  except  by  the  very  few  whose  tastes  incline 
them  to  such  themes.  But  I do  not  mean  to  assert 
that  the  article  on  the  Italian  language  will  not  bear 
perusal. 


180 


HENKY  WADSWOliTil  LONGFELLOW. 


Tlie  essay  on  tlie  moral  and  devotional  poetry  of 
Spain  first  introduced  to  the  public  Longfellow’s 
version  of  Don  Jorge  Manri([ue’s  sublime  ode  on  the 
death  of  his  father.  Loth  essay  and  ode  were  re- 
published in  one  volume  in  1833.^  “ Professor 

Longfellow’s  version,”  says  Mr.  Prescott,  “is  well 
calculated  to  give  the  English  reader  a correct  no- 
tion of  the  Castilian  bard,  and,  of  course,  a very 
exaggerated  one  of  the  literary  culture  of  the  age.” 

“The  North  American  Leview  ” for  April,  1833, 
contained  an  essay,  covering  nearly  forty  pages,  on 
“ Spanish  Language  and  Literature.”  In  this  notice 
Professor  Longfellow  ably  considers  the  three  divis- 
ions of  the  old  romance  as  spoken  in  Spain ; name- 
ly, the  Castilian,  the  Lemosin,  and  the  Gallego,  or 
Galician.  Each  of  the  dialects  is  sketched  clearly, 
but  concisely : the  most  striking  features  in  its  his- 
tory are  given,  and  numerous  illustrations  of  its 
peculiarities  are  exhibited.  The  essay  is  not  writ- 
ten for  the  professed  scholar,  but  for  intelligent 
readers  generally. 

The  publication  of  Thoms’s  collection  of  early 
prose  romances,  in  three  volumes,  London,  1828, 
suggested  to  Professor  Longfellow  the  writing  of  an 
article  on  “ Old  English  Romances.”  It  was  printed 
in  “The  North  American  Review”  for  October, 
1833.  The  article  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  of 
the  author’s  contributions  to  periodical  literature. 
The  opening  paragraph  is  here  given : — 

1 Coplas  de  Don  Jorge  Manriqne.  Translated  from  the  Spanish, 
with  an  introductory  essay  on  the  moral  and  devotional  poetry  of 
Spain.  Boston;  1833. 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  181 


‘‘  One  of  the  most  interesting  and  instructive 
walks  of  literature  lies  among  the  graves  of  the 
departed,  — for  the  thoughts  of  man  have  their 
graves  like  man  himself ; and  the  reverend  monitor, 
Time,  for  them  likewise  tolls  the  passing-bell,  and 
performs  the  sad  obsequies.  A vast  library  is  a vast 
cemetery  of  mind,  where,  in  a certain  sense,  lie 
buried  the  ideas  of  those  who  have  gone  before  us. 
Each  dusty  tome  is  a neglected  monument,  whose 
epitaph  is  written  in  the  title-page,  and  whose  date 
not  unfrequently  records  at  once  the  birth  and  the 
death  of  its  tenant.  There  the  poet  and  the  philoso- 
pher literally  mingle  their  dust  together,  and  the 
musty  apostle  of  an  obsolete  creed  lies  side  by  side 
with  the  prurient  ballad-singer.  The  learned  prelate 
is  a prey  to  the  worm,  and  the  wanton  tale-bearer 
lisps  his  amorous  conceits  to  the  dull  ear  of  oblivion. 
One  might  almost  think  that  they  had  implored 
eternal  peace,  and  that  their  pages’  prayer  had  been 
answered ; for  no  one  disturbs  their  repose,  save 
now  and  then  some  Old  Mortality  who  comes  to 
meditate  among  the  tombs,  and  to  wipe  away  the 
mildew  and  gossamer  whicli  cover  the  inscriptions.” 

The  author  then  proceeds  to  comment  more  par- 
ticularly on  the  romances  of  Robert  the  Devil,” 
“Thomas  of  Reading,”  “The  Famous  Historic  of 
Fryer  Bacon,”  “ The  History  of  Fryer  Rush,”  “ Vir- 
gilius,”  “ The  Noble  Birth  and  Gallant  Achievements 
of  that  Remarkable  Outlaw  Robin  Hood,”  “The  His- 
tory of  George  A.  Green,”  “ Tom  A.  Lincolne,” 
etc. 

In  the  summer  of  1835  appeared  “ Outre-Mer ; a 


182 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Pilgrimage  beyond  the  Sea,”  in  two  volumes.^  Two 
years  before,  its  publication  had  been  begun  in  num- 
bers, but  not  continued  to  any  great  length  ; and,  as 
1 have  already  shown,  portions  of  tlie  work  had  been 
printed  in  the  pages  of  “ The  New-England  Maga- 
zine ” under  another  title.  In  the  book-notices  of 
the  September  number,  1833,  of  “ The  New-England 
Magazine,”  I find  a very  pleasant  critique  of  the  first 
part  of  “ Outre-Mer,”  which  closed  with  a reflective 
article  on  the  cemetery  of  Pere-la-Chaise.  It  says,  — 

‘ ‘ It  seems  hardly  worth  while  to  keep  in  the  public 
journals  a secret  which  is  known  by  all  the  world ; so  we 
may  as  well  say,  that  this  little  work  is  the  production  of 
Professor  Longfellow  of  Bowdoin  College,  — a man  of 
fine  talents,  an  excellent  scholar,  and  a poet  withal.  It 
is  one  of  that  sort  of  books  which  are  the  delight  of 
readers  and  the  despair  of  critics.  Without  any  preten- 
sions to  being  a great  work,  without  claiming  to  be  very 
profound  or  very  original,  it  is  full  of  taste,  good  feeling, 
and  unaffected  elegance.  It  is  the  book  of  a man  who 
has  a fine  eye  for  the  beautiful,  a genial  sympathy  for 
humanity,  rich  powers  of  description,  and  a disposition  to 
look  on  the  bright  side  of  things.  He  reminds  us  a good 
deal  of  Washington  Irving  — not  that  we  mean  to  insinu- 
ate that  he  is  an  imitator  : for  if  “ The  Sketch-Book  ” had 
never  been  written,  we  have  no  doubt  “Outre-Mer” 
would  have  been  what  it  is  ; but  they  resemble  each  other 
a good  deal  in  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  their 
minds.  . . . The  style  is  perfect : we  could  wish  some- 
times, that  it  had  more  of  careless  vigor  and  less  of  fiu- 

1 Outre-Mer:  a Pilgrimage  beyond  the  Sea.  In  two  volumes. 
New  York.  Published  by  Harper  & Brothers,  1835.  [12mo,  pp.  226, 
252.] 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  183 


ished  eleo;ance.  IVe  hope  Professor  Longfellow  will 
continue  it : we  shall  be  always  glad  to  hear  from  him.” 

The  reviewer  prints  several  selections  from  “ Outre- 
Mer,”  and  writes  as  if  totally  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  many  of  these  quotations  had  previously  ap- 
peared in  the  pages  of  the  magazine  under  the  head- 
ing of  The  Schoolmaster.”  It  may  be  that  this 
innocence  is  purely  intentional,  but  I very  much 
doubt  it. 

In  the  October  number,  1834,  of  “ The  North 
American  Review,”  a writer  thus  speaks  of  the  first 
two  numbers  of  the  serial  publication  : — 

“ This  work  is  obviously  the  production  of  a writer  of 
talent  and  of  cultivated  taste,  who  has  chosen  to  give  to 
the  public  the  results  of  his  observation  in  foreign  coun- 
tries in  the  form  of  a series  of  tales  and  sketches.  It  is 
a form,  which,  as  eveiy  reader  knows,  has  been  recom- 
mended by  the  high  example  and  success  of  3Ir.  Irving : 
and,  in  recording  only  such  circumstances  as  suit  his 
fancy,  an  accomplished  traveller  is  certainly  more  likely 
to  preserve  the  proper  measure  of  spirit  and  freshness, 
than  when  he  enters  on  the  task  of  preparing  an  elaborate 
and  formal  narrative.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  that,  in 
adopting  the  form  of  Mr.  Irving,  the  author  has  been 
guilty  of  any  other  imitation.  They  have  both  entei’ed 
on  the  same  field,  in  different  directions,  and  without  the 
least  hazard  of  crossing  each  otlier’s  path  ; and  we  are 
much  inclined  to  wish  that  other  writers,  who  possess  the 
requisite  leisure  and  accomplishments,  would  follow  their 
example.” 


184 


JIKNUY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


In  the  foregoing  selection,  the  writer^  feigns  igno- 
rance of  the  authorship  of  “ Outre-Mer.”  Professor 
Jxnigfellow  had  already  contributed  several  impor- 
tant articles  to  the  pages  of  “The  Nortli  American 
Review,”  and  was  certainly  not  unknown  in  the  lit- 
erary circle  of  the  periodical.  Furthermore,  it  was 
now  pretty  Avell  known  in  Boston,  that  he  was  the 
author  of  “ Outre-Mer ; ” so  that  it  is  not  easy  to  sup- 
pose that  the  critic’s  ignorance  of  the  authorship  was 
other  than  assumed  on  this  special  occasion. 

When  the  complete  work  was  published  in  New 
York,  the  editor  of  “The  New-England  Magazine” 
again  noticed  it.  I quote  from  this  notice,  Avhich 
appeared  in  the  number  for  July,  1835. 

“It  is  unnecessary  to  state  to  our  readers  that  the 
author  of  these  pleasing  volumes  is  H.  W.  Longfellow, 
recently  appointed  professor  of  modern  languages  and 
belles-lettres  in  Harvard  University,  and  now  abroad  for 
the  purpose  of  gathering  materials  to  illustrate  the  de- 
partment of  learning  covered  by  his  professorship.  The 
writings  of  this  gentleman  show  a rare  union  of  the 
scholar  and  the  poet.  To  a minute  and  laborious  re- 
search, a well-arranged  and  copious  fund  of  erudition, 
he  adds  a lively  sense  of  the  harmony  of  language,  an 
artist-like  power  of  delineation,  and  a ready  humor,  that 
peeps  out  ever  and  anon,  and  is  always  greeted  with  a 
hearty  welcome.” 

Farther  on,  the  reviewer  says, — 

“We  think  the  readers  of  this  work  will  welcome  it  as 
an  agreeable  and  valuable  addition  to  our  literature.  The 


1 Rev.  O.  W.  B.  Peabody. 


A PROFESSOR  IN  BOWDOIN  COLLEGE.  185 


style  is  pure  and  polished ; the  language  flows  with  ful- 
ness, beauty,  and  harmony.  Many  of  the  humorous 
sketches  are  drawn  with  a true  and  discriminating  hand ; 
while  the  serious  portions  are  written  in  a noble  spirit, 
adorned  by  well-sustained  eloquence.  But  there  are  some 
points  of  small  importance  in  which  the  work  is  open  to 
criticism.  A few  pet  words  and  phrases  have  crept  into 
our  author’s  style,  and  established  themselves  without  his 
knowing  it,  such  as  ‘ merry,’  ‘ merrymake,’  ‘ holiday-finery.’ 
Mr.  Longfellow  writes,  too,  sometimes  in  the  character  of 
an  idler,  who  goes  about  with  his  eyes  half  shut,  indulging 
in  all  sorts  of  day-dreams  and  vagaries.  Now,  every- 
body knows  that  Mr.  Longfellow  is  the  most  wide-awake 
of  mortal  men,  that  he  never  idled  away  an  hour  in  his 
life,  and  that,  instead  of  wandering  listlessly  over  the 
storied  scenes  of  Europe,  he  contrived  to  gather  an  as- 
tonishing amount  of  information  on  all  matters  pertaining 
to  literature,  down  to  the  provincial  dialects  of  the  various 
languages,  of  which  he  made  himself  thoroughly  master. 
We  should  have  been  better  pleased  had  our  author  writ- 
ten more  in  his  own  character ; though,  it  is  true,  he  has 
Mr.  Irving’s  authority  for  falling  into  reveries  whenever 
the  humor  takes  him.  i\Ir.  Longfellow  has  a way  of 
picking  up  some  odd,  tatterdemalion  ne’er-do-well,  and 
making  a picture  of  him.  lie  does  this  with  a good  de- 
gree of  skill  and  graphic  power ; nevertheless,  people  icill 
be  reminded  of  Mr.  Irving  again.  But  our  author  is  no 
imitator ; only  these  coincidences  in  manner,  once  in  a 
while,  bring  up  the  author  of  ‘ The  Sketch-Book  ’ and 
‘ Bracebridge  Hall.’  A very  few  changes  would  have 
I’emoved  these  traces  of  resemblance  ; for  they  are  tracer. 
and  nothing  more.  But  this  picking  flaws  in  beautiful 
works  of  poetry  and  imagination  is  an  ungracious  task, 
and  we  gladly  bid  it  adieu.” 


186 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Of  the  work  itself  I need  add  Init  little  to  what 
has  already  been  said  in  this  chapter.  It  is,  confess- 
edly, not  much  more  than  a book  of  travels  through 
France,  Spain,  Italy,  Germany,  and  Holland  ; though 
the  last  two  countries  named  are  barely  noticed. 
Around  his  descriptions  of  scenery,  and  of  the  va- 
rious incidents  which  pleased  his  youthful  fancy,  tlie 
author  throws  a halo  of  imagination,  — a sort  of 
dreamy  atmosphere  which  at  times  makes  what  is 
real  seem  quite  the  opposite.  Poesy,  art,  romance, 
and  life  are  beautifully  intermingled  ; and  the  gener- 
ous feeling  and  true  philosophy  evinced  by  the  pil- 
grim of  the  Land  beyond  the  Sea  throw  a mild, 
yet  most  attractive,  coloring  over  all  the  objects 
encountered,  and  all  the  scenes  passed  through. 
Whether  we  walk  with  him  through  the  valley  of 
the  Loire,  take  passage  by  night  in  the  stage-coach 
from  Paris  to  Bordeaux,  or  partake  of  the  somewhat 
doubtful  welcome  of  the  inn  of  old  Castile,  we  feel 
that  we  are  in  the  company  of  a person  of  talent  and 
of  cultivated  taste.  “ Outre-Mer  ” was  Mr.  Longfel- 
low’s first  venture  in  the  field  of  helles-lettres : for- 
tunately it  was  not  the  last.  With  all  its  excellence 
and  grace,  it  will  bear  no  comparison  with  “ The 
Sketch-Book,”  by  which  it  is  overshadowed ; and, 
though  it  might  have  proved  creditable  to  him,  yet 
it  could  never  have  made  a reputation  for  its  author. 
The  work  possesses  more  than  ordinary  merit,  how- 
ever, and  will  amply  repay  perusal. 


INVITED  TO  CAMBRIDGE. 


187 


CHAPTER  VII. 

INVITED  TO  CAMBRIDGE:  REVISITS  EUROPE. 

(7835,  1836.) 

IN  the  month  of  December,  1834,  Professor  Long- 
fellow received  a letter  from  the  corporation  of 
Harvard  College,  informing  him  that  George  Ticknor 
had  expressed  a wish  to  retire  from  the  professorship 
of  modern  languages  and  literature,  and  that  the 
position  was  open  to  him,  if  he  should  choose  to 
accept  it.  The  offer  was  accompanied  with  permis- 
sion to  spend  a year  or  more  abroad,  if  it  should  be 
deemed  necessary. 

Longfellow  was  very  much  astounded  at  receiving 
such  a proposal ; and,  at  first,  he  was  prompted  to 
decline  it.  The  department  which  he  had  established 
at  Bowdoin  College  was  now  beginning  to  show  re- 
sults ; the  renown  of  the  teacher  was  attracting  stu- 
dents from  all  parts  of  New  England  ; and  the  Board 
of  Management  was  more  than  satisfied  witli  what 
had  already  been  accomplished,  and  was  hopeful  of 
the  future.  It  was  a sad  moment  when  Professor 
Longfellow  made  knowii  the  call  which  he  had  re- 
ceived, and  a still  sadder  one  when  he  signified  his 
determination  to  accept  it. 

During  his  stay  in  Brunswick,  Longfellow  had 


188 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


formed  many  friendships  ; and  the  thought  of  breaking 
away  from  tliese  troubled  him  sorely.  He  liad  also 
been  made  a member  of  the  Maine  Historical  Society, 
and  in  1834  was  holding  the  office  of  librarian  and 
(;a-binet-keeper.  His  work  at  the  college  was  pros- 
pering, there  was  a perfect  unanimity  and  harmony 
of  feeling  on  all  sides,  and  his  domestic  life  was 
fraught  with  unalloyed  happiness.  But  he  concluded 
to  make  a change  of  scene,  to  choose  a new  field  of 
labor.  Who  will  say  that  it  was  not  for  the  best  ? 

There  was  living,  at  this  time,  in  Portland,  an  inti- 
mate friend  of  Professor  Longfellow’s  father,  and  an 
able  exponent  of  the  law  of  admiralty,  — Mr.  Charles 
S.  Daveis.  It  may  here  be  noted  that  he  was  also  a 
friend  of  Sumner’s  father,  and  later  of  the  great  sen- 
ator himself.  To  him,  on  the  5th  of  January,  1835, 
George  Ticknor  addressed  the  following  interesting 
letter,  which  affords  a clear  notion  of  the  duties  and 
responsibilities  of  a Cambridge  professorship. 

“My  dear  Charles,  — Besides  wishing  you  a 
Happy  New-Year,  I have  a word  to  say  about  m}^- 
self.  I have  substantially  resigned  my  place  at 
Cambridge,  and  Longfellow  is  substantially  appointed 
to  fill  it.  I say  substantially,  because  he  is  to  pass  a 
year  or  more  in  Germany,  and  the  North  of  Europe ; 
and  I am  to  continue  in  the  place  till  he  returns, 
which  will  be  in  a year  from  next  Commencement 
or  thereabouts.  This  is  an  arrangement  I have  had 
at  heart  a good  while,  but  could  not  well  accomplish 
earlier,  partly  because  my  department,  being  a new 
one,  was  not  brought,  until  lately,  into  a good  condi- 
tion to  leave ; and  partly  because  I was  unwilling  to 


INVITED  TO  CAMBRIDGE. 


189 


seem  to  give  up  the  college  during  the  troubles  of 
the  late  Rebellion. 

“ I have  been  an  active  professor  these  fifteen 
years ; and  for  thirteen  years  of  the  time  I have  been 
contending,  against  a constant  opposition,  to  procure 
certain  changes  which  should  make  the  large  means 
of  the  college  more  effectual  for  the  education  of 
the  community.  In  my  own  department  I have  suc- 
ceeded entirely,  but  I can  get  these  changes  carried 
no  farther.  As  long  as  I hoped  to  advance  them,  I 
continued  attached  to  the  college  ; when  I gave  up  all 
hope,  I determined  to  resign. 

“ The  fact  that  I am  to  be  free  in  a year  makes 
me  so  already  in  spirit,  and  I look  back  upon  my 
past  course  at  the  college  almost  entirely  as  matter 
of  history.  There  is  a good  deal  in  it  that  gratifies 
me.  During  the  fifteen  years  of  my  connection  with 
it,  as  a teacher,  more  than  half  the  instruction  I liave 
given  has  been  voluntary,  neither  required  nor  con- 
templated by  my  statutes.  When  the  finances  of 
the  college  became  embarrassed  seven  years  ago,  I 
volunteered  the  resignation  of  four  liundred  dollars 
out  of  the  stipulated  salary  of  one  thousand  dollars, 
and  have  never  received  but  six  hundred  dollars  since. 
During  the  nine  years  a deiiartment  of  the  modern  lan- 
guages has  existed,  with  four  foreigners  for  teachers, 
who  are  generally  more  likely  to  have  difficulties 
with  the  students  than  natives,  no  case  whatsoever 
has  been  carried  before  the  faculty ; and  during  tlie 
whole  fifteen  years  I have  never  myself  been  absent 
from  an  exercise,  or  tardy  at  one.  Moreover,  within 
the  limits  of  the  department,  I liave  entirely  broken 


190 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  J.ONGFEl.LOW. 


ii{)  tlie  division  of  classes,  establislied  fully  the  prin- 
ciple and  practice  of  progress  according  to  proficiency, 
and  introduced  a system  of  voluntary  study,  which 
for  several  years  has  embraced  from  one  hundred  and 
forty  to  one  hundred  and  sixty  students ; so  that  we 
have  relied  hardly  at  all  on  college  discipline,  as  it  is 
called,  but  almost  entirely  on  the  good  disposition  of 
the  young  men,  and  their  desire  to  learn.  If,  there- 
fore, the  department  of  the  modern  languages  is 
right,  the  rest  of  the  college  is  wrong ; and,  if  the 
rest  of  the  college  is  right,  we  ought  to  adopt  its  sys- 
tem, which  I believe  no  person  whatsoever  has  thought 
desirable  for  the  last  three  or  four  years.  . . . 

“ In  my  whole  connection  with  it,  I feel  as  if  I had 
been  as  much  actuated  by  a sense  of  duty  to  improve 
the  institution,  and  serve  the  community,  as  men  in 
public  places  commonly  are.  So,  I doubt  not,  are 
those  who  have  the  management  of  the  college,  and 
pursue  the  opposite  course.  I do  not  know  that  it 
could  be  in  the  hands  of  abler  men,  or  men  more 
disinterested;  certainly  not  of  men  for  whom  I have 
a greater  regard  or  respect.  We  differ,  however, 
very  largely,  both  as  to  what  the  college  can  be  and 
what  it  ought  to  be.  We  therefore  separate  as  men 
who  go  different  roads,  though  proposing  the  same 
end,  each  persuaded  the  one  he  prefers  is  the  best, 
the  pleasantest,  and  the  shortest.”  ^ 

“ It  was  at  the  suggestion  of  Professor  Ticknor 
that  Longfellow  received  the  invitation  to  come  to 
Cambridge.  In  casting  his  eyes  about  him  in  search 
of  a successor,  the  former  had  been  attracted  towards 
1 Life,  Letters,  and  Journals  of  George  Ticknor.  Vol.  i.  p.  399. 


INVITED  TO  CAMBRIDGE. 


191 


the  promising  incumbent  at  Bowdoin  College  by  the 
able  articles  on  the  study  of  languages  which  the 
latter  had  contributed  to  the  pages  of  “ The  North 
American  Review.”  Nothing  of  the  sort  had  hitherto 
graced  American  literature ; for  the  reason,  perhaps, 
that  there  was  no  one  to  write  them.  The  study  of 
the  languages  and  literatures  of  Greece  and  Rome 
at  that  time  was  accounted  of  paramount  value ; 
while  that  of  the  modern  languages  and  literatures 
was  adjudged  to  be  more  a means  of  amusing  one’s 
self,  or  a sort  of  accomplishment,  rather  than  any  ab- 
solute necessity.  Indeed,  perhaps  I do  not  overstate 
the  matter  by  saying  that  modern  European  nations, 
outside  of  England,  were  not  generally  supposed  to 
have  any  literatures  worthy  of  study.  Longfellow 
never  did  a better  service  to  his  countrymen  than 
when  he  ventured  to  write  and  to  publish,  in  the 
ablest  but  most  conservative  of  American  periodicals, 
his  scholarly  and  suggestive  papers  on  the  languages 
of  Germany,  Spain,  France,  and  Italy:  by  so  doing 
he  scattered  seed,  that,  falling  into  good  ground,  was 
destined  to  bear  abundant  fruits,  llis  articles  not 
only  stimulated  further  investigation  and  study,  and 
led  to  the  organization  of  departments  of  tlie  modern 
languages  in  other  educational  institutions,  but  they 
also  proved  to  be  the  means  of  establishing  liim  in 
a new  field  of  work,  of  associating  him  with  the  old- 
est and  best  of  American  colleges,  which,  while  re- 
liecting  honor  upon  himself,  was  alike  honored  by 
his  renowned  presence. 

Illness  in  the  family  of  Professor  Ticknor  compelled 
the  latter  to  give  up  his  position  much  sooner  than 


192 


IIKNUY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


he  anticipated.  Instead  of  occupying  the  chair  until 
tlie  return  of  his  successor  from  Europe,  he  resigned 
it  in  May,  1835.  In  Noveml)er,  1836,  Longfellow  was 
formally  appointed  Smitli  professor  of  tlie  French 
and  Spanisli  languages  and  literature,  and  professor 
of  helles-lettresy 

Before  his  departure  for  Europe,  in  the  spring  of 
1835,  Longfellow  arranged  with  Harper  and  Brothers 
of  New-York  City  for  the  publication  of  liis  “ Outre- 
Mer  ” in  book-form.  In  consideration  of  the  pay- 
ment of  five  hundred  dollars,  he  transferred  all  his 
rights  and  title  in  the  work  to  his  publishers.  Dur- 
ing his  absence  from  the  country,  the  work  was  issued 
in  two  volumes,  as  I have  already  stated  in  the  pre- 
vious chapter. 

Longfellow’s  object  in  revisiting  Europe  was  study, 
and  not  pleasure.  To  thoroughly  prepare  liimself 
for  his  ncAV  station  was  his  highest  ambition.  His 
young  wife  went  with  him,  however ; and,  for  a few 
months  at  least,  she  was  the  companion  of  his  earnest 
toil. 

He  went  first  to  England,  where  he  spent  some 
time  in  a survey  of  the  country.  Early  in  the  sum- 
mer he  repaired  to  Denmark  and  Sweden,  and  in 
the  latter  country  he  settled  himself  down  for  studjL 
Some  of  the  annotations  in  the  collected  edition  of 
his  poems,  as  well  as  one  or  two  articles  which  he 
published  in  “ The  North  American  Review,”  attest 
to  his  diligence  and  research  in  the  Scandinavian 
lands. 

Late  in  the  autumn  he  journeyed  down  into  Hol- 
land, and  intended  to  spend  a few  weeks  at  Rotter- 


INVITED  TO  CAMBRIDGE. 


193 


dam.  But  here  a sad  event  took  place,  which  has 
invested  that  old  cit}^  with  a sacred  ness  which  will 
never  fade.  In  the  bloom  of  her  womanhood,  Mrs. 
Longfellow  died,  on  the  29th  of  November,  1835, 
from  an  illness  contracted  immediately  after  a con- 
finement. Both  mother  and  child  vanished  “ as  the 
dews  of  the  early  morning,”  leaving  desolate  a heart 
filled  with  many  hopes.  But  the  memory  of  the 
young  wife  is  forever  immortalized  in  the  verse  of 
her  poet-husband  ; for  in  the  “ Footsteps  of  Angels  ” 
we  may  read,  — 

“ When  the  hours  of  day  are  numbered, 

And  the  voices  of  the  night 
AVake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered, 

To  a holy,  calm  delight ; 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted. 

And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  firelight 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall, — 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 
Enter  at  the  open  door : 

The  beloved,  the  true-hearted. 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more  ; 


And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
AVho  unto  my  youth  was  given. 
More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a saint  in  heaven. 

AVith  a slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 
Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me. 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 


194 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 
Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 

Is  the  spirit’s  voiceless  prayer. 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended. 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 

Oh,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely. 
All  my  fears  are  laid  aside. 

If  I but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died  I 


After  the  death  of  this  most  lovely  and  inestimable 
woman,  the  bereaved  husband  went  to  Heidelberg, 
Germany,  where  he  passed  the  winter  of  1835-36. 
Here  he  became  acquainted  with  Samuel  Ward,  a 
cousin  of  George  W.  Greene,  whom  Longfellow  had 
met  earlier  at  Marseilles.  How  the  acquaintance 
was  formed  is  best  related  in  Mr.  Ward’s  own  words. 
He  says,  — 

“ In  the  summer  of  1832,  as  I was  discussing  my 
plans  for  a trip  to  Europe  in  the  autumn  of  that 
year,  and  a contemplated  residence  of  several  years 
abroad  for  purposes  of  study  and  instruction,  my 
cousin,  George  Washington  Greene  of  East  Green- 
wich, late  United-States  consul  at  Rome,  spoke  to 
me  with  enthusiasm  of  the  genius  and  promise  of  his 
friend  Longfellow,  then  professor  of  modern  lan- 
guages and  belles-lettres  at  Bowdoin  College,  Maine. 
Mr.  Greene  was  himself  a ripe  and  accomplished 
scholar,  as  shown  by  his  various  contributions  to 


INVITED  TO  CAMBRIDGE. 


195 


historical  literature,  chief  of  wliich  is  the  life  of  his 
distinguished  grandfather,  Gen.  Nathanael  Greene, 
Washington’s  ‘man  of  action’  during  our  Revolu- 
tionary war. 

“ When,  therefore,  after  a residence  of  nearly  four 
years  abroad,  I was  invited  by  my  amiable  Jewish 
banker,  the  late  Adolph  Zimmern,  to  a quiet  conver- 
sazione at  his  house  on  a certain  evening  in  March, 
1836,  to  meet  Mrs.  William  Cullen  Bryant  and  her 
daughter,  and  others  of  my  countrymen,  I was  not  a 
little  surprised  to  find  there  Mr.  Longfellow,  the 
hero  of  the  pen,  not  the  sword,  of  my  cousin’s  wor- 
ship. I referred  to  Greene,  whose  name  was  a warm 
introduction  to  him;  and  when  we  left  the  house, 
early  in  the  evening,  it  was  to  adjourn  to  my  hotel, 
the  ‘ Badischer  Hof,’  where  we  sat  up  in  earnest 
converse  until  daylight.  I had  stopped  for  a day  or 
two  at  Heidelberg  to  see  a few  old  friends,  on  my  way 
to  America,  after  a winter  spent  partly  in  Berlin  with 
Henry  Wheaton,  then  our  minister  at  tlie  Court  of 
Prussia,  and  partly  in  Dresden  with  George  Ticknor. 
I was  full  of  anecdotes  of  the  home  of  Hegel  and  of 
Humboldt,  and  of  the  little  Court  of  Saxony,  where 
Prince  John  was  completing  his  translation  of  Dante, 
and  Baron  Lindenau,  though  Chancellor  of  Saxony, 
was  still  intent  upon  his  astronomical  determination 
of  the  vagaries  of  the  planet  Venus.  Ludwig  Tieck 
used  to  read  to  us  once  a week  the  matchless  transla- 
tions of  Shakspeare,  for  which  the  world  is  indebted 
to  him,  to  august  Wilhelm  Schlegel,  and  — for  tliat 
one  of  the  plays,  ‘ Romeo  and  J uliet  ’ — to  Tieck's 
daughter.  We  also  went  more  than  once  to  the 


19(3 


JlI^LNKY  WADSWOirm  LONGFELLOW, 


studio  of  Moritz  Retzcli,  tlie  illustrator  of  ‘ Faust,’  a 
stout,  rosy-clieeked,  short,  enthusiastic  artist,  who 
looked  for  all  the  world  the  Saxon  opj^osite  of  Da 
Vinci^  or  Raphael’s  classical  features. 

“ Longfellow  had  led  a secluded  life  since  the 
death  of  his  young  wife  in  Holland  the  previous 
autumn.  My  budget  of  rattling  talk  was,  therefore, 
a clieering  and  interesting  peep  into  tlie  social  world 
from  which  liis  mourning  had  so  long  excluded  him ; 
and  I also  had  glimpses  to  unfold  of  literary  men 
and  the  artists  and  scientists  of  Paris,  where  I had 
spent  two  winters  and  a summer.  The  day  follow- 
ing, I visited  him  at  his  rooms,  which  were  strewn 
with  books,  in  a house  in  the  main  street  embracing 
a view  of  the  castle.  He  was  ready  for  another  of 
my  Sindbad  narratives,  and  in  later  years  more  than 
once  recalled,  with  a smile,  the  fact  of  my  taking  off 
my  coat,  as  his  room  was  warmed  by  a German  stove, 
to  talk  more  freely  in  my  shirt-sleeves. 

“ With  me  it  was  a case  of  love  at  first  sight, 
which  has  burned  with  the  steady  light  of  a Jewish 
tabernacle  ever  since.  When,  a day  or  two  after,  I 
started  for  the  town  of  Troves,  he  drove  with  me  as 
far  as  Mannheim,  where  I bade  him  fareAvell.  Our 
correspondence  began  when  an  accident  detained  me 
captive  for  a month  at  the  residence  of  an  old  col- 
lege-friend in  the  town  and  fortress  of  Luxemburg.” 

The  spring  and  summer  of  1836  were  spent  chielly 
in  Switzerland  and  the  Tyrol.  The  impressions 
which  these  journeys  left  upon  liis  mind  are  recorded 
in  “ Hyperion,”  v/here  also  we  find  the  best  itinerary 
of  his  several  tours.  It  was  in  Switzerland  that  he 


INVITED  TO  CAMIilUDGE. 


197 


first  met  the  lady  who  afterwards  became  his  wife^ 
and  who,  with  her  parents,  was  then  making  a grand 
tour  on  the  Continent. 

On  the  14th  of  November  of  the  same  year,  Long- 
fellow arrived  home ; and,  on  the  17th,  Sumner  thus 
wrote  to  his  friend.  Dr.  Francis  Lieber  of  New 
York : — 

“ Longfellow  has  returned  home,  having  arrived 
only  three  days  ago,  full  of  pleasant  reminiscences 
and  of  health.  He  tells  me  that  he  called  upon  Mit- 
termaier,  with  a letter  from  you.  He  is  a very 
pleasant  fellow,  and  will  at  once  assume  the  charge 
of  Ticknor’s  department.  . . . Longfellow  left  the 
Appletons  in  Switzerland.” 

It  may  here  be  noted  that  Charles  Sumner,  who 
was  at  that  time  a young  attorney  trying  his  first 
cases  at  the  Suffolk  County  Court,  had  casually  met 
Longfellow,  in  Felton’s  room,  in  1835,  when  Long- 
fellow first  came  to  Cambridge  to  consult  with  the 
college  officials  preparatory  to  his  trip  to  Europe. 
The  acquaintance  between  Sumner  and  Felton  had 
begun  as  far  back  as  1831,  when  the  former  was  a 
student  at  the  law-school,  and  the  latter  was  a Greek 
professor  in  the  academic  department  of  the  college. 
But  of  this  and  other  friendships  I shall  speak  later 
on. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  December,  1836,  that  the 
new  Smith  professor,  having  arrived  and  established 
himself  in  Cambridge,  assumed  the  management  of 
the  department  of  modern  languages  and  of  belles- 
lettres  at  Harvard  College. 


198  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE. 

(1836-1839.) 

IN  the  year  1759,  or  thereabouts,  Col.  John  Vassal 
erected  an  elegant  and  spacious  mansion  on  a lot 
of  land,  comprising  one  hundred  and  fifty  or  more 
acres,  lying  on  the  outskirts  of  the  then  town  of  Cam- 
bridge, State  of  Massachusetts.  Col.  Vassal  was  a 
stanch  loyalist ; and  his  family  was  a distinguished 
one,  both  in  Old  and  New  England.  He  took  an 
active  part  against  the  Whigs  in  the  struggles  pre- 
liminary to  hostilities,  and  early  in  1775  became  a 
fugitive  under  the  protection  of  the  royal  standard. 
His  Cambridge  and  Boston  estates  were  confiscated ; 
and,  in  the  dawn  of  the  revolutionary  strife,  the 
former  was  occupied  for  a while  by  Gen.  George 
Washington.  Col.  John  Vassal  retired  to  England, 
where  he  died  in  1797,  in  consequence  of  eating,  as 
it  was  said,  a too  hearty  dinner. 

As  the  royalists  went  out,  the  republicans  came 
in  ; and  the  halls  of  the  Tory  now  echoed  to  the 
tread  of  many  feet.  Col.  John  the  first  was  suc- 
ceeded by  Col.  John  Glover  and  a battalion  of  his 
Marblehead  regiment.  It  is  safe  to  affirm  that  the 
man  of  Marblehead  has  left  a more  enduring  record 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  199 


than  the  marble  of  the  Vassal.  Glover  served  in  the 
American  army  in  the  campaign  against  Burgoyne. 
He  commanded  the  troops  drawn  up  to  receive  the 
surrender  of  the  latter,  and,  with  Whipple,  escorted 
the  forces  of  the  convention  to  Cambridge.  Before 
long,  however,  the  Provincial  Congress  ordered  the 
grand  and  sumptuous  mansion  cleared  and  made 
ready  for  a more  illustrious  tenant;  and  in  July, 
1776,  Glover  and  his  sturdy  men  of  Essex  vacated, 
and  went  quietly  into  camp. 

It  was  while  the  haymakers  were  busy  at  their 
work  in  the  royalists’  meadows  that  Washington 
drove  into  Cambridge,  and  was  lodged  in  the  former 
abode  of  Col.  Vassal;  and  there  he  remained  for  the 
space  of  eight  months  ensuing. 

“ Once,  ah  ! once,  within  these  walls, 

One  whom  memory  oft  recalls, 

The  Father  of  his  Country  dwelt; 

And  yonder  meadows  broad  and  damp. 

The  fires  of  the  besieging  camp 
Encircled  with  a burning  belt.” 

The  commander-in-cliief,  on  taking  possession  of 
the  house,  chose  the  south-east  chamber  for  his  sleep- 
ing apartment.  The  large  room  directly  underneath 
this  chamber  lie  appropriated  for  his  private  study 
and  official  headquarters,  and  the  room  immediately 
in  the  rear  was  allotted  to  the  military  members  of 
his  family.  In  the  study,”  writes  Mr.  Drake, ^ “ the 
ample  autograph  was  appended  to  letters  and  orders, 
that  have  formed  the  framework  of  contemporary 
J Old  Landmarks  and  Historic  Fields  of  Middlesex,  by  S.  A.  Drake. 


200 


HENRY  WAHSWOirni  LONGFELLOW. 


liistory ; the  march  of  Arnold  to  Quebec,  the  new 
organization  of  the  Continental  army,  the  occupation 
of  Dorchester  Heights,  and  the  simple  but  graphic 
expression  of  the  final  triumph  of  patient  endurance 
in  the  following  order  of  the  day : — 

Headquarters,  17th  March,  1776. 

I’arole,  Boston.  Countersign,  St.  Patrick. 

The  regiments  under  marching  orders  to  march  to- 
morrow morning.  Brigadier  of  the  day,  Gen.  Sullivan. 

By  His  Excellency’s  Command.” 

In  this  study  probably  assembled  the  councils  of 
war;  and  around  the  board  sat  Ward,  Putnam,  and 
Lee  in  the  places  of  honor ; and  Thomas,  Heath, 
Greene,  Sullivan,  Spencer,  and  Knox  in  the  order 
of  rank. 

Opposite  the  study,  and  just  across  the  broad  hall, 
on  the  left  as  one  enters,  was  the  reception-room  in 
which  Mrs.  Washington,  who  arrived  in  Cambridge 
at  about  the  same  time  as  the  tidings  of  the  capture 
of  Montreal,  received  her  guests^  It  is  a matter  of 
history  that  Mrs.  Washington  entered  the  house  on 
the  11th  December,  1775,  in  company  with  Mrs. 
Gates,  John  Custis  and  lady,  and  George  Lewis. 

In  the  rear  of  the  reception-room  was  the  dining- 
room, in  which,  from  that  day  to  this,  have  been 
gathered  many  of  the  most  eminent  military,  civil, 
and  literary  characters  of  our  country,  nay,  of  many 
countries. 

While  a resident  of  this  house,  “ the  general  break- 
fasted at  seven  o’clock  in  the  summer,  and  at  eight 
in  the  winter.  He  dined  at  two,  and  drank  tea  early 


The  Craigie  House  at  Cambridge. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  201 


ill  the  evening  : supper  he  eschewed  altogether.  His 
breakfast  was  very  frugal ; and  at  this  meal  he  drank 
tea,  of  Avhich  he  was  extremely  fond.  He  dined  well, 
but  was  not  difficult  to  please  in  the  choice  of  his 
viands.  There  were  usually  eight  or  ten  large  dishes 
of  meat  and  pastry,  with  vegetables,  followed  by  a 
second  course  of  pastry.  After  the  removal  of  the 
cloth,  the  ladies  retired ; and  the  gentlemen,  as  was 
then  the  fashion,  partook  of  wine.  Madeira,  of  which 
he  drank  a couple  of  glasses  out  of  silver  camp-cups, 
was  the  general’s  favorite  wine.  Washington  sat 
long  at  table.  An  officer  who  dined  with  him  says 
the  repast  occupied  two  hours,  during  which  the 
general  was  toasting  and  conversing  all  the  time. 
One  of  his  aides  was  seated  every  day  at  the  bottom 
of  the  table,  near  the  general,  to  serve  the  company, 
and  distribute  the  bottles.” 

Washington  departed  from  the  Vassal  House  early 
in  tlie  month  of  April,  1776.  On  the  occasion  of  his 
tliird  visit  to  Boston,  in  1789,  he  again  passed  through 
Cambridge,  and  spent  about  an  hour  in  his  old  head- 
quarters. 

The  war  of  the  Revolution  came  at  last  to  an  end ; 
and  the  Vassal  mansion  became  the  property  of 
Nathaniel  Tracy,  who  has  the  credit  of  liaving  fitted 
out  the  first  private  armed  vessel  that  ever  sailed 
from  an  American  port.  Mr.  Tracy  was  patriotic, 
generous,  and  hospitable,  and  in  his  lordly  home 
entertained  many  distinguished  guests. 

After  Mr.  Tracy  came  Thomas  Russell,  a mercliant- 
prince  of  Boston,  who,  says  a tradition,  once  ate  a 
sandwich  made  of  a hundred-dollar  note  and  two 


202 


HKNRY  WADSWOIiTU  LON(iFELLOW. 


slices  of  bread.  P^ollowing  him,  in  March,  1791,  Dr. 
Andrew  Craigie,  formerly  apothecary-general  to  the 
Continental  army,  in  which  service  he  amassed  a 
fortune,  came  into  possession  of  the  mansion.  For 
the  house  and  land,  together  with  the  adjoining  house 
of  Frederick  Geyer,  since  familiarly  known  as  the 
Hatchelder  estate.  Dr.  Craigie  gave  <£3,750  lawful 
money.  He  entertained  two  very  notable  person- 
ages in  the  house  : one  was  Talleyrand,  the  evil  genius 
of  Napoleon ; the  other  was  the  Duke  of  Kent,  the 
father  of  Queen  Victoria. 

Edward  Everett  resided  in  the  house  just  after  his 
marriage,  and  while  still  a professor  in  the  university 
of  which  he  became  president.  Willard  Phillips, 
and  Worcester  the  lexicographer,  also  lived  in  the 
liouse  which  I am  now  considering. 

In  October,  1832,  Mr.  Jared  Sparks,  subsequently 
president  of  Harvard  University,  married  Miss  Fran- 
ces Anne  Allen  of  New  York ; and,  in  the  month  of 
April  of  the  following  year,  he  began  housekeeping 
in  the  Craigie  mansion.  At  this  period  of  his  life  he 
was  engaged  on  his  “Writings  of  George  Washing- 
ton.” In  his  journal,  under  date  of  April  2,  appears 
the  following  entry  : — 

“ This  day  began  to  occupy  Mrs.  Craigie’s  house 
in  Cambridge.  It  is  a singular  circumstance,  that 
while  I am  engaged  in  preparing  for  the  press  the 
letters  of  Gen.  Washington  which  he  wrote  at  Cam- 
bridge, after  taking  command  of  the  American  arm}', 
I should  occupy  the  same  rooms  that  he  did  at  that 
time.” 

Dr.  Craigie  was  ruined  by  his  extravagant  mode 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  203 


of  living.  The  expenses  which  it  entailed  were  more 
than  he  could  meet ; and,  ere  long,  dire  necessity 
forced  him  to  part  with  all  save  eight  of  the  two 
hundred  acres  originally  included  in  the  estate. 
After  his  death  Mrs.  Craigie  was  compelled,  like- 
wise by  necessity,  to  let  lodgings  to  the  youth  of 
Harvard,  or  to  whomsoever  might  apply  for  them  ; 
and  thus  it  was  that  such  intellectual  giants  whom  1 
have  named,  and  others  not  here  mentioned,  became 
occupants  of  the  house.^ 

I must  now  relate  how  it  was  that  Professor  Long- 
fellow came  to  live  in  this  grand  old  mansion.  The 
story  has  often  been  told,  and  is  probably  familiar  to 
most  readers ; but  the  purpose  of  this  work  compels 
me  to  go  over  it  again.  I will  do  so  in  the  words  of 
the  original  narrator,  Mr.  George  William  Curtis. 

In  the  summer  of  1837  a young  man  passed  down 

1 Some  singular  stories  are  told  of  this  old,  reduced  gentlewoman. 
“ On  one  occasion,”  says  one  writer,  “ her  young  poet-lodger,  enter- 
ing her  ])arlor  in  the  morning,  found  her  sitting  the  open 
window,  through  which  innumerable  canker-worms  had  crawled 
from  the  trees  that  they  were  devouring  outside.  They  had  fas- 
tened themselves  to  her  dress,  and  hung  in  little  writhing  festoons 
from  the  white  turban  on  her  head.  Her  visitor,  surprised  and 
shocked,  asked  if  she  would  do  nothing  to  destroy  the  Avorms. 
Raising  her  eyes  from  her  book,  — she  sat  calmly  reading,  like  in- 
difference on  a monument,  — she  said,  in  tones  of  solemn  rebuke, 
‘Young  man,  have  not  our  fellow-worms  as  good  a right  to  live  as 
we?’  — an  answer  which  throws  uncle  Toby’s  ‘ Go,  little  Hy!  ’ quite 
into  the  shade. 

“ As  this  grim  old  lady  lay  a-dying,  she  sent  for  the  lodger  to  bid 
him  farewell.  He  approached  the  bedside,  and  looked  silently  upon 
the  spectral  figure,  the  withered  face,  the  gray  hair.  Suddenly 
drawing  the  bed-clothes  around  her,  she  opened  her  keen,  sunken 
eyes,  bright  one  moment  before  dimming  with  death,  and  uttered 
this  strange  greeting  and  farewell:  ‘Young  man,  neverinarry;  for 
see  how  ugly  an  old  woman  looks  in  bed!  ’ ” 


204 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


the  elm-shaded  walk  that  separated  the  old  Craigie 
House  from  the  high  road.  Reaching  the  door,  he 
{)aiised  to  observe  the  huge  old-fashioned  brass 
knocker  and  the  quaint  handle,  relics,  evidently,  of 
an  epoch  of  colonial  state.  To  his  mind,  however, 
the  house,  and  these  signs  of  its  age,  were  not  inter- 
esting from  the  romance  of  antiquity  alone,  but  from 
their  association  with  the  early  days  of  our  Revolu- 
tion, when  Gen.  Washington,  after  the  battle  of 
Bunker  Hill,  had  his  headquarters  in  the  mansion. 
Had  his  hand,  perhaps,  lifted  this  same  latch,  linger- 
ing, as  he  pressed  it,  in  the  whirl  of  a myriad  emo- 
tions? Had  he,  too,  paused  in  the  calm  summer 
afternoon,  and  watched  the  silver  gleam  of  the  broad 
river  in  the  meadows,  the  dreamy  blue  of  the  Milton 
hills  beyond?  And  had  the  tranquillity  of  that  land- 
scape penetrated  his  heart  with  “the  sleep  that  is 
among  the  hills,”  and  whose  fairest  dream  to  him 
was  a hope  now  realized  in  the  peaceful  prosperity  of 
his  country? 

When  the  brazen  clang  of  the  huge  knocker  had 
ceased  resounding,  the  great  door  slowly  opened  ; and 
no  phantom  serving-man,  but  a veritable  flesh-and- 
blood  retainer  of  the  hostess  of  the  mansion,  invited 
the  visitor  to  enter.  He  inquired  for  Mrs.  Craigie. 
In  answer,  the  door  of  a little  parlor  was  thrown 
open  ; and  the  young  man  beheld  a tall,  erect  figure, 
majestically  crowned  with  a turban,  beneath  which 
burned  a pair  of  keen  gray  eyes.  A commanding 
gravity  of  deportment,  harmonious  with  the  gentle- 
woman’s age,  and  with  the  ancestral  respectability 
of  the  mansion,  assured  profound  respect ; while,  at 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIEST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  205 


a glance,  it  was  clear  to  see,  that  combination  of 
reduced  dignity  condescending  to  a lower  estate,  and 
that  pride  of  essential  superiority  to  circumstances, 
which  is  traditional  among  women  in  the  situation  of 
the  turbaned  lady.  There  was  kindliness  mellowing 
the  severity  of  her  visitor’s  inquiry  if  there  was  a 
room  vacant  in  the  house. 

“ I lodge  students  no  longer,”  she  responded  grave- 
ly, possibly  not  without  regret,  as  she  contemplated 
the  applicant,  that  she  had  vowed  so  stern  a resolu- 
tion. 

“ But  I am  not  a student,”  answered  the  stranger. 
“ I am  a professor  in  the  university.” 

“ A professor  ? ” said  she  inquiringly,  as  if  her 
mind  failed  to  conceive  a professor  without  a clerical 
sobriety  of  apparel,  a white  cravat,  or  at  least  spec- 
tacles. 

“ Professor  Longfellow,”  continued  the  guest,  in- 
troducing himself. 

“ Ah ! that  is  different,”  said  the  old  lady,  her 
features  slightly  relaxing,  as  if  professors  were,  ex 
officio^  innocuous,  and  she  need  no  longer  barricade 
herself  behind  a stern  gravity  of  demeanor.  “ I will 
show  you  what  there  is.” 

Thereupon  she  preceded  the  professor  up  the  stairs, 
and,  gaining  the  upper  hall,  paused  at  each  door, 
opened  it,  permitted  him  to  perceive  its  delightful 
fitness  for  his  purpose,  kindled  expectation  to  the 
utmost,  then  quietly  closed  the  door  again,  observing, 
“You  cannot  have  that.”  It  was  most  Barmecide 
hospitality.  The  professorial  eyes  glanced  restlessly 
around  the  fine  old-fashioned  points  of  the  mansion, 


200 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


marked  the  wooden  earvings,  tlie  air  of  opulent  re- 
speetability  in  tlie  past,  wliieli  eorresponds  in  New 
England  to  tlie  impression  of  aneient  nobility  in  Old 
England,  and  wondered  in  whieli  of  these  jileasant 
lields  of  suggestive  association  he  was  to  be  allowed 
to  })iteh  his  tent.  The  turbaned  hostess  at  length 
opened  the  door  of  the  south-east-corner  room  in  the 
second  story  ; and  while  the  guest  looked  wistfully 
in,  and  awaited  the  customary  “You  cannot  have 
that,”  he  was  agreeably  surprised  by  a variation  of 
the  strain,  to  the  effect  that  he  might  occupy  it. 

The  room  was  upon  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
looked  over  the  meadows  to  the  river.  It  had  an 
atmosphere  of  fascinating  repose,  in  which  the  young 
man  was  at  once  domesticated,  as  in  an  old  home. 
The  elms  of  the  avenue  shaded  its  windows  ; and,  as 
he  glanced  from  them,  the  summer  lay  asleep  upon 
the  landscape  in  the  windless  day. 

“ This,”  said  the  old  lady,  with  a slight  sadness  in 
her  voice,  as  if  speaking  of  times  forever  past,  and  to 
which  she  herself  properly  belonged,  “ this  was  Gen. 
Washington's  chamber.” 

The  stately  hostess  retired,  and  the  next  day  the 
new  lodger  took  possession  of  his  room. 

Professor  Longfellow’s  first  literary  production, 
after  he  had  settled  in  Cambridge,  was  an  article 
entitled  “The  Great  Metropolis,”  a review  of  a work 
treating  of  life  in  London.^  The  article  was  printed 
in  “The  North  American  Review”  for  April,  1837. 

1 The  Great  Metropolis.  By  the  author  of  Random  Recollections 
of  the  Lords  and  Commons.  2 vols.  12mo.  New  York:  Saunders 
and  Otley.  1837. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIllST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  207 


The  most  that  can  be  said  of  it  is,  that  it  is  pleas- 
antly written,  and  is,  in  spirit,  very  much  against  the 
book.  “ In  reading  the  book,”  says  the  reviewer, 
"‘you  feel  that  you  are  walking  through  London  with 
a man  who  wears  a shocking  bad  hat : and  when 
your  walk  is  at  an  end,  though  you  cannot  but  thank 
him  for  the  information  he  has  given  you,  neverthe- 
less you  commend  him  in  future  to  the  raising  of 
cucumbers  or  the  digging  of  fish-ponds ; for  you  see 
that  he  is  " of  the  earth,  earthy.’  ” 

In  the  early  part  of  the  year  1837,  a strong  and 
lasting  friendship  was  formed  between  Henry  W. 
Longfellow,  aged  thirty,  Cornelius  C.  Felton,  aged 
twenty-nine,  George  S.  Hillard  and  Henry  R.  Cleve- 
land, each  aged  twenty-eight,  and  Charles  Sumner, 
aged  twenty -six.  They  called  themselves  the  “ Five 
of  Clubs.”  Felton  was  at  this  time  the  professor  of 
Greek  in  Harvard  College  ; Cleveland  was  a teacher 
by  profession,  and  an  able  scholar  withal;  Hillard 
and  Sumner  were  partners  in  the  practice  of  the  law. 
Longfellow  had  been  introduced  to  Felton  by  his  old 
schoolmate,  John  Owen,  two  years  before,  and  in 
Felton's  room  had  first  met  Sumner.  Never  were 
five  ambitious  souls  brought  together  in  more  con- 
genial harmony.  On  Saturday  afternoons  they  usu- 
ally came  together.  We  are  told  that  “they  met 
simply  as  friends  with  common  tastes  and  the  fullest 
sympathy  with  each  otlier,  talking  of  society,  the 
week’s  experiences,  new  books,  their  individual  stud- 
ies, plans,  and  hopes,  and  of  Europe,  — which  Long- 
fellow and  Cleveland  had  seen,  and  which  the  others 
longed  to  see.  They  loved  good  cheer,  but  observed 


208 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


moderation  in  tlieir  festivities.  A table  simply  spread 
became  a symposium  when  Felton,  with  his  joyous 
nature,  took  his  seat  among  his  friends;  and  the 
other  four  were  not  less  genial  and  hearty.  There 
was  hardly  a field  of  literature  which  one  or  the 
otlier  had  not  traversed,  and  they  took  a constant 
interest  in  each  other’s  studies.  Each  sought  the 
criticism  of  the  rest  upon  his  own  book,  essay,  or 
poem  before  it  was  given  to  the  public.  Their  mu- 
tual confidence  seemed  to  know  no  limitation  of 
distrust  or  fear  of  possible  alienation ; and  they  re- 
vealed, as  friends  do  not  often  reveal,  their  inner 
life  to  each  other.  Rarely  in  history  has  there  been 
a fellowship  so  beautiful  as  that  of  these  gifted 
young  men.”  ^ 

For  a time  the  meetings  were  held  at  Longfel- 
low’s room  in  the  old  Craigie  House ; sometimes  at 
Felton’s  ; and,  not  often,  at  No.  4 Court  Street, 
Boston,  — the  law-office  of  Sumner  and  Hillard. 
Occasionally  the  friends  would  adjourn  their  meet- 
ings in  order  to  pay  a visit  at  the  home  of  Professor 
Andrews  Norton,  — whose  heart  was  as  large  as  his 
scholarship,  — the  father  of  Professor  Charles  Eliot 
Norton. 

During  Sumner’s  absence  in  Europe,  the  Five  of 
Clubs  was  limited  to  four  members ; but  the  re-unions 
were  still  kept  up,  and  the  absent  one  was  often  dis- 
cussed and  never  forgotten  at  the  genial  board. 
When  he  arrived  home,  he  found  that  several 
changes  had  taken  place.  Cleveland  had  taken 
unto  himself  a wife,  and  was  now  living  at  “Pine 

1 Pierce’s  Memoirs  and  Letters  of  Charles  Sumner.  Vol.  i.  jt.  101. 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  209 


Bank,”  near  Jamaica  Pond;  Felton  was  also  mar- 
ried, and  living  in  the  new  house  which  he  had  built 
in  Cambridge.  This  was  in  the  early  part  of  the 
year  1840.  Although  increasing  family-cares  now 
began  to  break  in  upon  the  meetings,  they  in  no 
way  lessened  the  bonds  of  friendship.  On  Saturday 
afternoons  Sumner  was  always  to  be  found  at  the 
Craigie  House,  and  not  unfrequently  Felton  would 
join  the  two  intimates  at  the  dinner-hour.  Between 
Sumner  and  Longfellow  there  was  never  any  diffi- 
dence and  reserve ; as  they  were  when  they  first 
met,  so  they  remained  for  thirty-seven  years. 

Let  us  now  turn  our  attention  for  a while  to  that 
warm  friendship  which  sprung  up  about  this  time 
between  Longfellow  and  his  old  classmate  Nathan- 
iel Hawthorne.  Ever  since  his  graduation  in  1825, 
Hawthorne  had  been  leading  the  life  of  a recluse  at 
Salem,  Mass.,  verily  sitting  in  his  little  room  under 
the  eaves,  reading,  studying,  meditating,  and  “feeling 
his  way  through  the  twilight  of  dreams,  into  the 
dusky  chambers  of  that  house  of  thought  whose 
haunted  interior  none  but  himself  ever  visited.” 
But  rarely  did  he  have  any  communication  with  the 
members  of  his  family ; but  rarely  did  he  forsake 
the  upper  chamber  in  the  old  Herbert-street  man- 
sion ; but  rarely  did  he  walk  into  that  j)ew  in  tlie 
First  Church,  which  his  family  liad  held  since  1640. 
To  the  external  world  he  was  as  if  he  were  dead  r 
and  yet,  during  all  these  years,  he  was  never  idle ; 
for  his  brain  was  weaving  those  ethereal  fancies, 
which,  printed  first  in  several  of  the  i)eriodicals  of 
the  day,  subsequently  re-appeared  in  a collective 


210 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


form  as  the  “Twice-told  Tales.”  ^ On  March  7, 
1887,  JIaAvthoriie  wrote  the  following  missive  to 
liongfellow : — 

“The  agent  of  the  American  Stationers’  Company 
will  send  you  a copy  of  a book  entitled  ‘ Twice-told 
Tales,’  of  which,  as  a classmate,  I venture  to  request 
your  acceptance.  We  were  not,  it  is  true,  so  well 
aeciuainted  at  college  that  I can  plead  an  absolute 
right  to  inflict  my  ‘ Twice-told  ’ tediousness  upon 
3'ou ; but  I have  often  regretted  that  we  were  not 
better  known  to  each  other,  and  have  been  glad  of 
your  success  in  literature  and  in  more  important 
matters.  ...  I should  like  to  flatter  myself  that 
they  would  repay  }^ou  some  part  of  the  pleasure 
which  I have  derived  from  your  own  ‘ Outre-Mer.’  ” 

Longfellow  replied  cordially  to  this  letter,  and 
assured  Hawthorne  that  he  had  often  been  in  his 
remembrance.  The  latter  again  wrote,  in  June,  — 

“ Since  we  last  met,  which  you  remember  was  in 
Sawtelle’s  room,  where  you  read  a farewell  poem  to 
the  relics  of  the  class,  — ever  since  that  time  I have 
secluded  myself  from  society ; and  }^et  I never  meant 
any  such  thing,  nor  dreamed  what  sort  of  life  I was 
going  to  lead.  I have  made  a captive  of  myself,  and 
put  me  into  a dungeon,  and  now  I cannot  find  the 
key  to  let  myself  out;  and,  if  the  door  were  open,  I 
should  be  almost  afraid  to  come  out.  You  tell  me 
that  }^ou  have  met  with  troubles  and  changes.  I 

1 Twice-told  Tales.  By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  Boston:  Anieri- 
can  Stationers’ Company.  1837.  12mo,  pp.  334.  The  pecuniary  risk 

was  assumed  by  Horatio  Bridge,  and  not  till  long  afterward  did 
Hawthorne  know  of  his  friend’s  genei*ous  interposition. 


LONGFELLOW'S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  211 


know  not  what  these  may  have  been,  but  I can 
assure  you  that  trouble  is  the  next  best  thing  to 
enjoyment,  and  that  there  is  no  fate  in  this  world  so 
horrible  as  to  have  no  share  in  either  its  joys  or  sor- 
rows. For  the  last  ten  years  I have  not  lived,  but 
onh"  dreamed  of  living.  It  may  be  true  that  there 
have  been  some  unsubstantial  pleasures  here  in  the 
shade,  which  I might  have  missed  in  the  sunshine ; 
but  you  cannot  conceive  how  utterly  devoid  of  satis- 
faction all  my  retrospects  are.  I have  laid  up  no 
treasure  of  pleasant  remembrances  against  old  age, 
but  there  is  some  comfort  in  thinking  that  future 
years  can  hardly  fail  to  be  more  varied  and  therefore 
more  tolerable  than  the  past.” 

Longfellow  recognized  his  old  classmate  in  a way 
more  substantial  than  by  merely  answering  letters. 
In  the  July  number  of  “ The  North  American  Re- 
view,” 1837,  he  published  an  appreciative  review  of 
the  “ Twice-told  Tales  : ” — 

“ When  a new  star  rises  in  the  heavens,”  he  begins 
by  saying,  “people  gaze  after  it  for  a season  with  the 
naked  eye,  and  with  such  telescopes  as  they  may  find. 
In  the  stream  of  thought,  which  flows  so  peacefully 
deep  and  clear,  through  the  pages  of  this  book,  we 
see  the  bright  reflection  of  a spiritual  star,  after 
which  men  will  be  fain  to  gaze  ‘ with  the  naked  eye 
and  with  the  spy-glasses  of  criticism.’  This  star  is 
but  newly  risen  ; and  ere  long  the  observations  of 
numerous  star-gazers,  perched  upon  arm-chairs  and 
editors’  tables,  will  inform  the  world  of  its  magni- 
tude and  its  place  in  the  heaven  of  poetry,  whether 
it  be  in  the  paw  of  the  Great  Rear,  or  on  the  fore- 


212 


HENllY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


liead  of  Pegasus,  or  on  the  strings  of  the  lyre,  or  in 
the  wing  of  the  eagle.  Our  own  observations  are 
as  follows ; — 

“To  this  little  work  we  would  say,  ‘ Live  ever, 
sweet,  sweet  book.’  It  comes  from  the  hand  of  a 
man  of  genius.  Every  thing  about  it  has  the  freshness 
of  morning  and  of  May.  These  flowers  and  green 
leaves  of  poetry  have  not  the  dust  of  the  highway 
upon  them.  They  have  been  gathered  fresh  from 
the  secret  places  of  a peaceful  and  gentle  heart. 
There  flow  deep  waters,  silent,  calm,  and  cool ; and 
the  green  trees  look  into  them,  and  ‘ God’s  blue 
heaven.’  The  book,  though  in  prose,  is  written 
nevertheless  by  a poet.  He  looks  upon  all  things 
in  the  spirit  of  love,  and  with  lively  sympathies  ; for 
to  him  external  form  is  but  the  representation  of 
internal  being,  all  things  having  a life,  an  end,  and 
aim.” 

The  article  is  interspersed  with  numerous  cita- 
tions and  extracts  from  the  book,  and  concludes 
as  follows  : — 

“ These  extracts  are  sufficient  to  show  the  beauti- 
ful and  simple  style  of  the  book  before  us,  its  vein 
of  pleasant  philosophy,  and  the  quiet  humor,  which 
is  to  the  face  of  a book  what  a smile  is  to  the  face 
of  man.  In  speaking  in  terms  of  such  high  praise 
as  we  have  done,  we  have  given  utterance,  not  alone 
to  our  own  feelings,  but,  we  trust,  to  those  of  all 
gentle  readers  of  the  ‘Twice-told  Tales.’  Like  chil- 
dren we  say,  ‘ Tell  us  more.’  ” 

Hawthorne  received  the  quarterly,  and  read  the 
review  with  no  ordinary  interest.  In  his  note  of 


LONGFELLOW'S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  213 


thanks,  dated  June  19,  he  says,  “I  frankly  own  that 
I was  not  without  hopes  that  you  would  do  this  kind 
office  for  the  book ; though  I could  not  have  antici- 
pated liow  very  kindly  it  would  be  done.  Whether 
or  no  the  public  will  agree  to  the  praise  which  you 
bestow  on  me,  there  are  at  least  five  persons  who 
think  you  the  most  sagacious  critic  on  earth;  viz., 
my  mother  and  two  sisters,  my  old  maiden  aunt,  and 
finally,  the  strongest  believer  of  the  whole  five,  my 
own  self.” 

Unfortunately  the  enthusiasm  of  Longfellow  did 
not  much  increase  the  demand  for  the  book.  Some 
six  or  seven  hundred  copies  were  disposed  of,  to  be 
sure,  but  not  enough  to  bring  gladness  to  the  heart 
of  its  author.  But  it  initiated  a very  strong  and 
earnest  friendship  between  the  poet  and  the  roman- 
cer. Thenceforth  there  existed  no  barriers  between 
them : they  courted  and  loved  each  other’s  society. 
Into  the  quiet  chamber  of  the  Salem  recluse  came 
often  a welcome  guest,  none  other  than  the  author 
of  the  “ Psalm  of  Life ; ” and  now  and  then  the 
visits  were  returned.  But  why  seek  to  penetrate 
the  secrecy  and  the  charm  which  overshadow  them  ? 

In  the  July  number  of  the  quarterly,  1837,  ap- 
peared an  able  article  entitled  “ Tegn^r’s  Frithiofs 
Saga.”  It  was  prepared  by  Professor  Longfellow 
while  he  was  sojourning  in  Europe,  and  was  sent  to 
the  editors  of  “ The  Review  ” in  the  autumn  of  1836. 
It  was  placed  on  file,  to  await  the  return  home  of 
its  author , as  it  was  not  thought  wise  to  issue  it  be- 
fore it  should  have  had  the  advantage  of  his  own 
personal  correction  of  the  proof-sheets.  Other  cir- 


I 


214 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


cuinstiinces  delayed  its  publication  till  the  date 
named  above. 

The  essay  opens  with  a slight  biographical  sketch 
of  Esaias  Tegner,  and  is  followed  by  pleasant  pic- 
tures of  home-life  in  Sweden.  Tlien  comes  the  story 
of  the  poem,  interspersed  with  frecpient  translations 
from  the  original.  The  substance  of  this  article  was 
afterwards  reprinted  in  the  “Poets  and  Poetry  of 
Europe,”  and  in  the  poet’s  collected  works  are  sev- 
eral of  the  versions.  Notable  among  the  latter  are 
the  cantos  entitled  “ Frithiofs  Courtship,”  and 
“ Frithiofs  Temptation.”  Tegn^r’s  poem  is  writ- 
ten in  the  singular  measure  of  the  iambic  trimeter, 
which,  in  the  article,  Longfellow  declares  to  be 
“solemn-sounding,  but  to  English  ears  unmusical 
and  lame.”  ^ 

During  the  summer  of  1838,  Professor  Longfellow 
prepared  and  published  in  the  July  number  of  “ The 
North  American  Review  ” a critical  essay  entitled 
“Anglo-Saxon  Literature,”  based  on  the  recently 
published  works  of  Thorpe,  Conybeare,  and  Kemble. 
To  scholars  the  paper  ought  to  prove  interesting  and 
perhaps  valuable. 

1 As  a speciinen,  here  is  the  first  stanza  of  the  canto  entitled 
Frithiofs  Temptation:  — 

“ Varen  kommer,  faglen  qvittvar,  skogen  lofvas,  eolen  ler, 

Och  cle  Icista  floder  dansa  sjungande  mot  hafvet  ner : 

GIddande  som  Frejas  kinder  tittar  rosen  ur  sin  knopp, 

Och  i menskans  lijerla  vakna  lefuadsluet  och  mod  och  hopp.” 

Which  Longfellow  translates,  — 

“ Spring  is  coming,  birds  are  twittering,  forests  leaf,  and  smiles  the  sun ; 
And  the  loosened  torrents  downward  singing  to  the  ocean  run  : 

Glowing  like  the  cheek  of  Freya,  peeping  rosebuds  ’gin  to  ope, 

And  in  human  hearts  awaken  love  of  life,  and  joy,  and  hope.” 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  215 


We  will  now  take  a brief  survey  cf  the  ccndition 
of  Harvard  University  at  the  time  when  Longfellow 
entered  upon  his  new  field  of  labor.  In  September, 
1836,  two  -months  before  the  professor  formally 
received  his  appointment,  the  second  centennial 
anniversary  of  the  foundation  of  the  college  was 
celebrated  with  great  eclat.  A pavilion  was  erected 
on  the  college-grounds,  where  the  alumni  assembled, 
answering  to  the  roll-call  of  graduates.  An  old  man 
of  eighty-six,  of  the  class  of  1774,  was  the  first  to 
answer.  The  address  was  delivered  by  President 
Quincy.  Odes  were  recited,  speeches  were  made  by 
Edward  Everett  and  Joseph  Story  and  other  mag- 
nates of  the  institution.  Everett  presided ; and  Rob- 
ert C.  Wiuthrop,  a direct  descendant  of  the  first 
governor  of  the  Massachusetts  Colony,  one  of  the 
earliest  supporters  of  the  college,  was  the  marshal  of 
the  day.  The  college  buildings  were  illuminated  in 
the  evening.  The  outward  appearance  of  the  institu- 
tion is  well  shown  by  the  accompanying  illustration. 

At  the  time  when  Professor  Longfellow  began  his 
work  in  the  college,  Josiah  Quincy,  LL.D.,  a gradu- 
ate of  1790,  for  eight  years  a member  of  tlie  National 
Congress,  and  for  five  years  one  of  the  best  mayors 
that  the  city  of  Boston  ever  had,  was  the  president 
of  the  university.  He  had  been  chosen  in  1829  as 
the  worthy  successor  of  John  Thornton  Kirkland. 
Associated  with  him  in  the  college  faculty  were  the 
Hon.  Joseph  Story,  LL.D.,  who,  in  1811,  was  ap- 
pointed, by  President  Madison,  Associate  Justice  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  and  since 
June,  1829,  had  been  the  Dane  professor  of  law  in 


210 


ilENUy  WADSWORTH  LONfJFELLOW- 


the  university  ; Simon  Greeiileat,  LT^.D.,  since  1838 
the  successor  of  vXslunun  as  the  Koyall  professor  of 
law;  Edward  Tyrrel  Cliauniiig-,  J^L.J).,  brother  of 
William  Ellery  rhanning,  D.D.,  and  of  Walter  Chan- 
ning,  since  1819  the  Boylston  professor  of  rhet- 

oric and  oratory  in  the  college,  “where  the  exactness 
of  his  instruction,  his  cultivated  taste,  and  his  higldy 
disciplined  mental  powers,  gave  him  an  eminent 
reputation  with  his  pupils;”  Daniel  Treadwell,  the 
Itnmford  professor  of  the  physical  and  mathematical 
sciences  as  ai)plied  to  the  useful  arts;  John  Ware, 
the  Hersey  professor  of  physics;  Cornelius 
C 'Oil way  Eelton,  the  Eliot  professor  of  Greek  litera- 
ture, and  subsequently  president  of  the  college ; 
Benjamin  Peirce,  LE.D.,  the  Perkins  professor  of 
astronomy  and  mathematics  since  1842. 

In  the  department  of  modern  languages  at  this 
time,  to  which,  as  I have  previously  remarked,  great 
attention  was  being  paid,  Francis  Sales  was  the  in- 
structor in  French  and  Spanish  from  1816  to  1839, 
and  in  Spanish  alone  until  1854,  the  year  of  his  death. 
To  him  belongs  the  honor  of  having  done  more  than 
any  other  one  man  of  his  time  to  spread  the  love  of 
Spanish  literature  in  the  United  States,  and  of  hav- 
ing been  the  first  instructor  in  Spanish  of  George 
Ticknor,  the  distinguished  author  of  the  history  of 
Spanish  literature.  Pietro  Bachi,  A.M.,  J.U.D.,  was 
an  instructor  in  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese ; 
Francis  M.  J.  Surault  was  the  instructor  in  French  ; 
and  Hermann  Bokum  was  the  instructor  in  German. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  the  difficulties  which  sur- 
rounded Professor  Longfellow  at  the  time  when  he 


Harvard  College  at  the  Time  of  the  Second  Centennial  in  1835. 


HKNKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Ijegan  his  labors  at  Howdoiri  College  were  entirely 
wanting  at  Harvard.  In  the  latter  institution,  the 
department  of  modern  languages  had  already  been 
created,  and  for  many  years  had  been  in  active  prog- 
ress. All  that  remained  for  the  new  professor  was,  to 
simply  continue,  and,  if  possible,  advance  to  higher 
accomplishments,  the  working  of  this  department. 
He  undertook  the  task  thoroughly  fortified  and 
equipped,  as  we  already  know. 

It  is  interesting  in  this  connection  to  glance  hur- 
riedly at  the  educational  standing  of  the  college  at 
this  period.  Harvard  stood  then,  as  it  does  to-day, 
foremost  of  American  colleges.  Its  corps  of  teachers 
was  wholly  made  up  of  eminent  men  ; and  their  com- 
bined scholarship  has  never  since,  I fancy,  been  sur- 
passed, if  indeed  equalled.  The  reputation  of  these 
instructors  attracted  young  men  from  all  sections  of 
the  continent,  just  as  at  the  present  time  the  reputa- 
tion of  the  college  itself  draws  them  to  its  halls  of 
prestige.  In  1836  there  were  two  hundred  and 
nineteen  students  in  the  under-graduate  department 
alone ; and  of  these  how  many  have  made  their  names 
recognized  throughout  the  country.^ 

1 The  requisites  for  the  admission  of  a student  to  the  college,  in 
183G,  were  as  follows:  the  whole  of  Virgil  and  Caesar,  Cicero’s  Se- 
lect Orations,  Adam’s  Latin  Grammar  (Gould’s  edition),  and  the 
writing  of  Latin;  Jacob’s  Greek  Reader,  the  Four  Gospels  of  the 
Greek  Testament,  tlie  Gloucester  Greek  Grammar  (Cambridge  edi- 
tion), and  the  writing  of  Greek;  Lacroix’s  Arithmetic  (Cambridge 
edition),  Euler’s  Algebra,  and  the  Elements  of  Geography,  Ancient 
and  Modern,  by  J.  E.  Worcester. 

The  annual  expenses,  including  instruction,  library,  lecture- 
rooms,  steward’s  department,  rent  and  care  of  room,  amounted  to 
ninety  dollars.  When  a student  entered  college,  his  parents  or 
guardian  tiled  a statement  with  the  patron  (always  some  well-known 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  219 


Professor  Longfellow  received  his  appointment  in 
November,  1836 ; and  before  the  opening  of  the  new 
year  he  had  begun  to  busy  himself  with  its  duties. 
From  this  time  until  1854,  — eighteen  years,  — he  re- 
tained his  professorship,  and  was  then  succeeded  by 
his  brother  poet,  James  Russell  Lowell. 

I know  not  how  better  to  characterize  his  work  in 
the  college  than  by  printing  a letter  written  by 
Edward  Everett  Hale,  D.D.,  under  date  of  Feb.  5, 
1881.  He  says, — 

“ I was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  in  the  first  ‘ section,’ 
which  Mr.  Longfellow  instructed  personally  when  he 
came  to  Cambridge  in  1836.  Perhaps  I best  illus- 
trate the  method  of  his  instruction,  when  I say  that 
I think  every  man  in  that  section  would  now  say 
that  he  was  on  intimate  terms  with  Mr.  Longfellow. 
We  are  all  near  sixty  now;  but  I think  that  every 
one  of  the  section  would  expect  to  liave  Mr.  Long- 
fellow recognize  him,  and  would  enter  into  familiar 
talk  with  him,  if  they  met.  From  the  first,  he  chose 
to  take  with  us  the  relation  of  a personal  friend  a 
few  years  older  than  we  were. 

“ As  it  happened,  the  regular  recitation-rooms  of 
the  college  were  all  in  use ; and,  indeed,  I think  he 
was  hardly  expected  to  teach  any  language  at  all. 

citizen  of  Cambridge  not  officially  connected  with  the  college)  of  the 
amount  of  money  the  student  was  to  he  annually  allowed  for  his 
incidental  and  outside  contingencies:  and,  whenever  a student 
wanted  money  for  any  purpose,  he  was  obliged  to  apply  to  tlie 
patron  for  the  desired  amount;  it  being  oi)tional  with  the  latter  to 
either  grant  it  or  to  refuse.  It  was  against  a law  of  the  college  for 
any  student  to  incur  a debt  without  having  ])reviously  asked  permis- 
sion of  the  patron. 

Commencement  was  lield  on  the  last  Wednesday  in  August. 


220 


HKNRY  WvVDSWORTII  LON(i FRLLOW. 


He  was  to  oversee  the  (le])artineiit,  and  to  leeture. 
lint  he  seemed  to  teach  ns  (lerman  for  the  love  of  it. 
I know  I thonglit  lie  did ; and,  till  now,  it  has  never 
occurred  to  me  to  ask  whether  it  were  a jiart  of  his 
regular  duty.  Anyway,  we  did  not  meet  him  in  one 
of  the  rather  dingy  ‘■recitation-rooms,’  but  in  a sort 
of  parlor,  carpeted,  hung  with  pictures,  and  otherwise 
handsomely  furnished,  which  was,  I believe,  called 
‘•the  corporation-room.’  We  sat  round  a mahogany 
table,  Avhich  was  reported  to  be  meant  for  tlie  dinners 
of  the  trustees ; and  the  whole  affair  had  the  aspect 
of  a friendly  gathering  in  a private  house,  in  which 
the  study  of  German  was  the  amusement  of  the  occa- 
sion. These  accidental  surroundings  of  the  place 
characterize  well  enough  the  whole  proceeding. 

“ He  began  with  familiar  ballads,  read  tliein  to  us,, 
and  made  us  read  them  to  him.  Of  course  we  soon 
committed  them  to  memory  without  meaning  to,  and 
I think  this  was  probably  part  of  his  theory.  At 
the  same  time  we  were  learning  tlie  paradigms  by 
rote.  But  we  never  studied  the  grammar,  except  to 
learn  them ; nor  do  I know  to  this  hour  what  are  the 
contents  of  half  the  pages  in  the  regular  German 
grammars. 

“ This  was  quite  too  good  to  last.  For  his  regular 
duty  was  the  oversight  of  five  or  more  instructors 
who  were  teaching  French,  German,  Italian,  Spanish, 
and  Portuguese  to  two  or  three  hundred  under-gradu- 
ates. All  these  gentlemen  were  of  European  birtli, 
and  you  know  how  under-graduates  are  apt  to  fare 
Avith  such  men.  Mr.  LongfelloAV  had  a real  adminis- 
tration of  the  whole  department.  His  title  was> 


Longfellow's  first  years  in  Cambridge.  221 


‘ Smith  professor  of  modern  literature ; ’ but  we  al- 
ways called  him  ‘ the  head,’  because  he  was  head  of 
the  department.  We  never  knew  when  he  might 
look  in  on  a recitation  and  virtually  conduct  it.  We 
were  delighted  to  have  him  come.  Any  slipshod 
work  of  some  poor  wretch  from  France,  who  was 
tormented  by  wild-cat  sophomores,  would  be  made 
straight  and  decorous  and  all  right.  We  all  knew 
he  was  a poet,  and  were  proud  to  have  him  in  the 
college ; but  at  the  same  time  we  respected  him  as  a 
man  of  affairs. 

“ Besides  this,  he  lectured  on  authors,  or  more 
general  subjects.  I think  attendance  was  voluntary, 
but  I know  we  never  missed  a lecture.  I have  full 
notes  of  his  lectures  on  Dante’s  ‘ Divina  Commedia,’ 
which  confirm  my  recollections;  namely,  that  he  read 
the  whole  to  us  in  English,  and  explained  whatever  he 
thought  needed  comment.  I have  often  referred  to 
these  notes  since.  And  though  I suppose  that  he  in- 
cluded all  that  he  thought  worth  while  in  his  note  to 
his  translation  of  Dante,  I know,  that,  until  that  was 
published,  I could  find  no  such  reservoir  of  comment 
on  the  poem.” 

It  a})pears  to  be  the  testimony  of  all  who  were  so 
fortunate  as  to  receive  instruction  from  Professor 
Longfellow,  that  he  never  talked  or  read  or  lectured 
for  display,  but  always  to  put  his  auditors  in  posses- 
sion of  what  he  knew.  No  man  had  less  of  the 
schoolmaster,  or  of  that  dry  and  techuical  wisdom 
which  the  title  of  “ Professor  ” too  often  implies. 
He  did  not  profess  learning,  but  practised  it,  and 
made  it  attractive  by  his  example.  As  usual,  many 


222 


HENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


anecdotes  were  told  about  liim : and  the  under-gradu- 
ate wits  invented  the  customary  number  of  jokes  at 
his  expense ; but  these,  when  coming  to  his  knowl- 
edge, never  annoyed  him,  — indeed,  he  oftentimes 
seemed  to  enjoy  them.  A peculiar  weakness  in  his 
manner  of  dress  prompted  the  college  satirists  to 
nonsensical  doggerel,  but  even  this  did  not  offend 
him.  The  gibe  of  Margaret  Fuller  about  a “dandy 
Pindar  ’ took  its  sting  from  the  slight  youthful  fond- 
ness of  Longfellow  for  display  in  cravats  and  waist- 
coats,—as  if  he  had  carried  the  same  foible  into  his 
poetry,  which  he  never  did. 

Professor  Longfellow  always  addressed  the  mem- 
bers of  the  various  classes  as  “Mr.,”  and  thereby 
won  their  respect  from  the  start.  So  exact  was  he 
in  all  matters  of  personal  etiquette,  that,  as  one 
writer  remarks,  “ he  laid  the  stress  of  his  refinement 
upon  all  the  members  of  his  class.”  As  he  rarely 
failed  to  praise  the  keener  intellects,  so  did  he  in- 
variably assist  and  encourage  such  as  were  slow  of 
intellect. 

Longfellow’s  professional  service  at  Harvard  Col- 
lege proved  an  advantage  to  the  college : it  mate- 
rially assisted  his  own  reputation.  It  carried  him 
into  the  best  society  of  the  time,  where  his  charming 
manner  and  scholarly  attainments  made  and  estab- 
lished him  a great  favorite.  He  well  understood 
the  secret  of  the  art  of  pleasing,  but  on  no  occasion 
was  he  given  to  flattery  or  fawning ; and  never  did 
he  go  so  far  as  to  render  himself  ridiculous  by  osten- 
tatiousness or  uncalled-for  pedantry.  He  was  ever 
modest,  even  to  a fault : he  was  shy  of  his  own 


LONGFELLOW’S  FIRST  YEARS  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  223 


ability ; he  seemed  to  undervalue  his  powers  of  mind, 
and  to  dwell  always  in  the  fear  that  others  would 
over-value  them.  As  a teacher,  he  suffered  from 
having  a liighly  sensitive  nature:^ he  never  liked  to 
trouble  anybody,  even  to  ask  a favor ; and  the  mis- 
haps and  perplexities  of  others  affected  him  more 
than  his  own. 

He  well  understood  the  work  that  was  set  before 
him,  and  he  kept  it  uppermost  in  his  thoughts. 
Though  desirous  of  literary  honors,  and  a lover  of 
literary  toil,  he  ever  placed  the  art  of  teaching  be- 
fore the  art  of  authorship,  the  advancements  of  his 
pupils  before  his  own  advancement.  The  statutes 
governing  his  department  compelled  him  to  deliver 
usually  three  lectures  a week  during  the  college 
term.  This  was  no  sinecure  task,  but  one  which 
involved  careful  study  and  arduous  preparation. 
Still,  he  never  shirked  its  responsibility : to  the  last 
hour  of  his  professional  service,  he  was  patient, 
faithful,  trusted,  and  trustful ; and,  as  we  all  know, 
whatever  he  did  redounded  to  the  welfare  of  tlie 
institution  in  which  he  labored. 


224  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


“HYPERION”  AND  “VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.” 


HILE  travelling  in  Switzerland  in  tlie  sum- 


mer of  1836,  Professor  Longfellow  met  and 
became  acquainted  with  Mr.  Nathan  Appleton  of 
Boston,  who,  with  his  family,  was  making  the  tour 
of  the  Continent  in  a style  fully  justified  by  his 
ample  means.  Mr.  Appleton,  then  nearly  sixty 
years  of  age,  was  noted  for  his  large  heart  and  amia- 
bility ; his  daughter.  Miss  Frances  Elizabeth  Apple- 
ton,  for  her  surpassing  beauty ; and  the  young 
professor  for  his  m.odest  demeanor  and  scholarly 
attainments.  Altogether  it  was  a pleasant  company. 

At  the  time  of  this  felicitous  meeting,  the  Apple- 
tons  were  about  to  cross  over  the  mountains,  accom- 
panied by  their  footmen  and  postilions.  The  pro- 
fessor was  invited  to  join  them,  and  to  take  a seat 
in  the  carriage.  He  did  so,  and  became  the  vis-a-vis 
of  the  charming  young  lady,  whose  face  and  figure 
grew  lovelier  in  his  eyes  the  longer  he  gazed  upon 
them. 

When  they  arrived  at  Zurich,  the  members  of  the 
party  made  numerous  side  excursions,  but  always 
returned  to  “ The  Raven  ” inn  for  the  night.  A whole 


CHAPTER  IX. 


(1839.) 


“HYPERION”  AND  “VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  225 


week  passed  on,  and  it  became  evident  that  love  was 
again  weaving  its  spell  around  the  professor’s  heart. 
But  the  young  lady  was  not  to  be  so  easily  won, — 
at  least  not  for  the  present.  On  the  day  of  depart- 
ure from  the  inn,  an  incident  occurred  which  will 
bear  repeating.  On  arriving  at  the  inn,  Mr.  Apple- 
ton  had  written  his  name  in  the  register,  and  had 
added  a few  words  of  compliment  to  the  place. 
When  the  bill  was  brought  to  him,  he  found,  much 
to  his  chagrin,  that  it  was  exorbitant. 

“ But  I have  not  written  my  name,”  said  Mr. 
Longfellow ; “ and,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I will  treat 
the  inn-keeper  as  he  deserves.” 

So  saying,  the  professor  withdrew  with  the  book, 
and  had  presently  written  over  his  name  the  fol- 
lowing : — 

“ Beware  of  the  raven  of  Zurich  ! 

’Tis  a bird  of  omen  ill, 

With  a noisy  and  an  unclean  nest, 

And  a very,  very  long  bill.” 

Not  long  afterwards  the  party  separated,  — the 
Appletons  went  in  one  direction,  and  Professor 
Longfellow  in  another.  In  the  heart  of  the  latter 
was  brought  back  to  America  the  image  of  her  who 
had  so  completely  captivated  it.  It  was  destined  to 
linger  there  until  it  should  be  fairly  won  by  the 
charming  and  persuasive  eloquence  of  the  hero  of  a 
romance. 

Meanwhile,  amid  the  duties  of  his  professional 
life  at  Cambridge,  Longfellow  conceived  the  idea 
of  writing  a story.  He  was  still  lodging  in  the 
south-east  chamber  of  the  (Aaigie  House;  and  here, 


226 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


in  the  winter  of  1838-9,  he  planned  and  worked 
out  and  completed  the  work.  It  was  called  ‘‘  Hy- 
perion : a Romance,”  and  was  published  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1839  by  Samuel  Colman,  who  had  then 
removed  to  New  York.^ 

People  who  expected  to  find  in  “ Hyperion  ” a 
“prodigious  amount  of  diabolical  mysteries,  trap- 
doors without  number,  subterranean  dungeons,  and 
the  clanking  of  chains,”  were  greatly  disappointed ; 
for  it  was  by  no  means  a story  of  this  description, 
but  rather  one  whose  quiet,  delicate,  and  beautiful 
pictures  contrasted  with  the  terrific  scenes  of  old 
romance,  like  a soft,  autumnal  scene  compared  with 
the  landscape  swept  by  the  tropical  hurricane.  The 
actors,  like  the  personce  in  a Greek  play,  Avere  few. 
All  the  materials,  thoughts,  feelings,  scenery,  and 
illustrations  were  drawn  from  the  regions  of  roman- 
tic sentiment  and  poetry.  The  author  Avas  an  Ameri- 
can, who  had  knoAvn  sorrow,  Avho  Avas  a lover  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  Avho  Avas  a great  and  observing  trav- 
eller, a student,  and  something  of  a poet.  With  a 
memory  stored  with  the  legends  of  the  medimval 
period,  he  was  eager  to  carry  his  reader  back  Avith 
himself  to  the  illusions  of  the  past. 

And  now  let  us  glance  at  the  romance  itself,  and, 
Avith  the  help  of  a few  extracts,  endeavor  to  learn  the 
secret  of  its  popularity. 

Tlie  story,  if  one  chooses  to  call  it  such,  intro- 

i The  following  was  the  full  title:  Hyperion:  a Romance.  By 
the  author  of  Outre-Mer.  New  York:  Samuel  Colman.  In  2 vols. 
12mo,  pp.  213,  226. 

On  the  eve  of  its  publication,  Mr.  Colman  failed;  and  the  work 
was  undertaken  by  Mr,  John  Owen  of  Cambridge. 


“ HYPERION  ” AND  “ VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  227 


duces  its  hero  “ pursuing  his  way  along  the  Rhine 
to  the  south  of  Germany.”  His  name  is  Paul  Flem- 
ming,— a convenient  substitute  for  the  author’s 
own. 

“ The  setting  of  a great  hope  is  like  the  setting  of  the 
sun.  The  brightness  of  our  life  is  gone.  Shadows  of 
evening  fall  around  us  ; and  the  world  seems  but  a dim 
reflection,  — itself  a broader  shadow.  We  look  forward 
into  the  coming  lonely  night.  The  soul  withdraws  into 
itself.  Then  stars  arise,  and  the  night  is  holy. 

“Paul  Flemming  had  experienced  this,  though  still 
young.  The  friend  of  his  youth  was  dead.  The  bough 
had  broken  ‘under  the  burden  of  the  unripe  fruit.’  And 
when,  after  a season,  he  looked  up  again  from  the  blind- 
ness of  his  sorrow,  all  things  seemed  unreal.  Like  the 
man  whose  sight  had  been  restored  by  miracle,  he  beheld 
men,  as  trees,  walking.  His  household  gods  were  broken. 
He  had  no  home.  His  sympathies  cried  aloud  from  his 
desolate  soul ; and  there  came  no  answer  from  the  busy, 
turbulent  world  around  him.  He  did  not  willingly  give 
way  to  grief.  He  struggled  to  be  cheerful,  — to  be  strong. 
But  he  could  no  longer  look  into  the  familiar  faces  of  his 
friends.  He  could  no  longer  live  alone  where  he  had 
lived  with  her.  He  went  abroad,  that  the  sea  might  be 
between  him  and  the  grave.  Alas  ! between  him  and  his 
sorrow  there  could  be  no  sea,  but  that  of  time. 

“ He  had  already  passed  many  months  in  lonely  wan- 
dering, and  was  now  pursuing  his  way  along  the  Rhine, 
to  the  south  of  Germany.  He  had  journeyed  the  same 
way  before,  in  brighter  days  and  a brighter  season  of 
the  year,  in  the  May  of  life  and  in  the  month  of  May. 
He  knew  the  beautiful  river  all  by  heart, — every  rock 
and  ruin,  every  echo,  every  legend.  The  ancient  castles, 


2:28 


HENRY  WADSWOJITII  LONGFELLOW. 


grim  jind  lioar,  tluit  liad  taken  root  as  it  were  on  the 
eliffs,  — they  were  all  his  ; lor  his  thoughts  dwelt  in  them, 
and  the  wind  told  him  tales.” 

Ill  the  next  five  chapters  tlie  author  gives  a pic- 
turesque description  of  the  journe}^  along  the  Rhine, 
and  interweaves  into  it  many  of  the  old  legends  and 
traditions  of  that  region.  By  and  by  Paul  Flem- 
ming arrives  at  tlie  castle  of  Heidelberg;  and  there 
lie  encounters  a young  German  baron,  with  whom 
he  is  to  pass  the  winter.  From  the  seventh  chapter 
I take  the  following  interesting  passage : — 

“ What  a strange  picture  a university  presents  to  the 
imagination ! The  lives  of  scholars  in  their  cloistered 
stillness  ; literary  men  of  retired  habits  ; and  professors 
who  study  sixteen  hours  a day,  and  never  see  the  world 
hut  on  a Sunday.  Nature  has,  no  doubt  for  some  wise 
l)urpose,  placed  in  their  hearts  this  love  of  literaiy  labor 
and  seclusion.  Otherwise,  who  would  feed  the  undying 
lamp  of  thought?  But  for  such  men  as  these,  a blast  of 
wind  through  the  chinks  and  crannies  of  this  old  world, 
or  the  flapping  of  a conqueror’s  banner,  would  blow  it 
out  forever.  The  light  of  the  soul  is  easily  extinguished. 
And,  whenever  I reflect  upon  these  things,  I become 
aware  of  the  great  importance,  in  a nation’s  history,  of 
the  individual  fame  of  scholars  and  literary  men.  1 fear 
that  it  is  far  greater  than  the  world  is  willing  to  acknowl- 
edge, or,  perhaps  I should  say,  than  the  world  has  thought 
of  acknowledging.  Blot  out  from  England’s  history  the 
names  of  Chaucer,  Shakspeare,  Spenser,  and  Milton 
only,  and  how  much  of  her  glory  would  you  blot  out 
with  them ! Take  from  Italy  such  names  as  Dante, 
Petrarch,  Boccaccio,  Michel  Angelo,  and  Raphael,  and 


“ HYPERION  ” AND  “ VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  229 


how  much  would  be  wanting  to  the  completeness  of  her 
glory ! How  would  the  history  of  Spain  look,  if  the 
leaves  were  torn  out  on  which  are  written  the  names  of 
Cervantes,  Lope  de  Vega,  and  Calderon?  What  would 
be  the  fame  of  Portugal  without  her  Camoens ; of 
France  without  her  Racine  and  Rabelais  and  Voltaire  ; 
or  of  Germany  without  her  Martin  Luther,  her  Goethe, 
and  her  Schiller? — Na}",  what  were  the  nations  of  old 

without  their  philosophers,  poets,  and  historians?  Tell 
me,  do  not  these  men,  in  all  ages  and  in  all  places,  em- 
blazon wdth  bright  colors  the  armorial  bearings  of  their 
country?  Yes,  and  far  more  than  this:  for  in  all  ages 
and  in  all  places  they  give  humanity  assurance  of  its 
greatness,  and  say,  ‘ Call  not  tins  time  or  people  wholly 
barbarous  ; for  thus  much,  even  then  and  there,  could  the 
human  mind  achieve ! ’ But  the  boisterous  world  has 
hardly  thought  of  acknowledging  all  this.  Therein  it  has 
shown  itself  somewhat  ungrateful.  Else,  whence  the 
great  reproach,  the  general  scorn,  the  loud  derision,  with 
which,  to  take  a familiar  example,  the  monks  of  the 
Middle  Ages  are  regarded?  That  they  slept  their  lives 
away  is  most  untrue.  For  in  an  age  wdien  books  were 
few,  — so  few,  so  precious,  that  they  were  often  chained 
to  their  oaken  shelves  with  iron  chains,  like  galley-slaves 
to  their  benches,  — these  men,  with  their  lal)orious  hands, 
copied  upon  parchment  all  the  lore  and  wisdom  of  the 
past,  and  transmitted  it  to  us.  Perhaps  it  is  not  t(x> 
much  to  say,  that,  but  for  these  monks,  not  one  line  of 
the  classics  would  have  reached  our  day.  Surely,  then, 
we  can  pardon  something  to  those  superstitious  ages,  per- 
haps even  the  mystieism  of  the  scholastic  philosophy  ; 
since,  after  all,  we  can  find  no  harm  in  it,  only  the  mis- 
taking of  the  possible  for  the  real,  and  the  high  aspirings 
of  the  human  mind  after  a long-sought  and  unknown 


280 


HENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


somewhat.  I think  the  name  of  Martin  Luther,  the  monk 
of  Wittenberg,  alone  suflicient  to  redeem  all  monkhood 
from  the  reproach  of  laziness.  If  this  will  not,  perhaps 
the  vast  folios  of  Thomas  Aquinas  will ; or  the  countless 
manuscripts,  still  treasured  in  old  libraries,  whose  yellow 
and  wrinkled  pages  remind  one  of  the  hands  that  wrote 
them  and  the  faces  that  once  bent  over  them.” 

From  the  chapter  on  “Literary  Fame”  I quote 
the  following  significant  paragraphs  : — 

“ ‘ But,  at  any  rate,  a town  life  is  most  eventful,’  con- 
tinued the  baron.  ‘ The  men  who  make  or  take  the 
lives  of  poets  and  scholars,  always  compl.iin  that  these 
lives  are  barren  of  incidents.  Hardly  a literary  biogra- 
phy begins  without  some  such  apology,  unwisely  made. 
I confess,  however,  that  it  is  not  made  without  some  show 
of  truth,  if  by  incidents  we  mean  only  those  startling 
events  which  suddenly  turn  aside  the  stream  of  time,  and 
change  the  world’s  history  in  an  hour.  There  is  certainly 
a uniformity,  pleasing  or  unpleasing,  in  literary  life, 
which  for  the  most  part  makes  to-day  seem  twin-born 
with  yesterday.  But  if  by  incidents  you  mean  events  in 
the  history  of  the  human  mind,  (and  why  not?)  noiseless 
events,  that  do  not  scar  the  forehead  of  the  world  as  bat- 
tles do,  yet  change  it  not  the  less,  then  surely  the  lives 
of  literary  men  are  most  eventful.  The  complaint  and 
the  apology  are  both  foolish.  I do  not  see  why  a suc- 
cessful book  is  not  as  great  an  event  as  a successful  cam- 
paign, only  different  in  kind,  and  not  easily  compared.’ 

“ ‘Indeed,’  interrupted  Flemming,  ‘ in  no  sense  is  the 
complaint  strictly  true,  though  at  times  apparently  so. 
Events  enough  there  are,  were  they  all  set  down.  A life 
that  is  worth  writing  at  all  is  worth  writing  minutely. 


“HYPERION”  AND  “VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  231 


Besides,  all  literary  men  have  not  lived  in  silence  and 
solitude,  — not  all  in  stillness,  not  all  in  shadow.  For 
many  have  lived  in  troubled  times,  in  the  rude  and  ad- 
verse fortunes  of  the  state  and  age,  and  could  say,  with 
Wallenstein,  — 

‘ “ Our  life  was  but  a battle  and  a march; 

And,  like  the  wind’s  blast,  never  resting,  homeless, 

We  stormed  across  the  war-convulsed  earth.”  ’ 

Many  such  examples  has  history  recorded, — Dante,  Cer- 
vantes, Byron,  and  others,  men  of  iron,  — men  who  have 
dared  to  breast  the  strong  breath  of  public  opinion,  and, 
like  spectre-ships,  come  sailing  right  against  the  wind. 
Others  have  been  puffed  out  by  the  first  adverse  wdnd  that 
blew  ; disgraced  and  sorrowful,  because  they  could  not 
please  others.  Had  they  been  men,  they  would  have 
made  these  disappointments  their  best  friends,  and 
learned  from  them  the  needful  lesson  of  self-reliance.’ 

“‘To  confess  the  truth,’  added  the  baron,  ‘the  lives 
of  literary  men,  with  their  hopes  and  disappointments, 
and  quarrels  and  calamities,  present  a melancholy  picture 
of  man’s  strength  and  weakness.  On  that  very  account 
the  scholar  can  make  them  profitable  for  encouragement, 
consolation,  warning.’ 

“ ‘ And,  after  all,’  continued  Flemming,  ‘perhaps  the 
greatest  lesson  which  the  lives  of  literary  men  teach  us  is 
told  in  a single  word,  — Wait!  P^very  man  must  pa- 
tiently bide  his  time,  lie  must  wait.  More  particularly 
in  lands  like  my  native  land,  where  the  pulse  of  life  beats 
with  such  feverish  and  impatient  throbs,  is  the  lesson 
needful.  Our  national  chaiacter  wants  the  dignity  of 
repose.  We  seem  to  live  in  the  midst  of  a battle, — 
there  is  such  a din,  such  a hurrying  to  and  fro.  In  the 
streets  of  a crowded  city  it  is  difiicult  to  walk  slowly. 


232 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


You  feel  the  nisliin^  of  the  crowd,  and  rush  with  it  ou- 
ward.  Ill  tlK‘  pi’ess  of  our  life  it  is  diflieult  to  lie  calm. 
Ill  this  stress  of  wind  and  tide,  all  professions  seem  to 
drag  their  anchors,  and  are  swept  out  into  the  main. 
The  voices  of  the  Present  say,  “Come!”  But  the 
voices  of  the  Past  say,  “Wait!”  With  calm  and  sol- 
emn footsteps  the  rising  tide  bears  against  the  rushing 
torrent  up  stream,  and  pushes  back  the  hurrying  waters. 
With  no  less  calm  and  solemn  footsteps,  nor  less  cer- 
tainty, does  a great  mind  bear  up  against  pulilic  opinion, 
and  push  back  its  hurrying  stream.  Therefore  should 
every  man  wait, — should  bide  his  time;  not  in  listless 
idleness,  not  in  useless  pastime,  not  in  querulous  dejec- 
tion, but  in  constant,  steady,  cheerful  endeavors,  alwaj^s 
willing  and  fultilling,  and  accomplishing  his  task,  that, 
when  the  occasion  comes,  he  may  be  equal  to  the  occa- 
sion. And,  if  it  never  comes,  what  matters  it?  AVhat 
matters  it  to  the  world  whether  I or  3^011  or  another  man 
did  such  a deed,  or  wrote  such  a book,  so  be  it  the  deed 
and  book  were  well  done?  It  is  the  part  of  an  indiscreet 
and  troublesome  ambition  to  care  too  much  about  fame, 
— about  what  the  world  says  of  us,  to  be  alwa}^s  looking 
into  the  faces  of  others  for  approval,  to  l)C  always  anx- 
ious for  the  effect  of  what  we  do  and  say,  to  be  alwa}"s 
shouting  to  hear  the  echo  of  our  own  voices.  If  3^011  look 
about  3^011,  3^011  will  see  men  who  are  wearing  life  av>^a3^  in 
feverish  anxiety  of  fame  ; and  the  last  we  shall  ever  hear 
of  them  will  be  the  funeral  bell  that  tolls  them  to  their 
early  graves  ! Unhappy  men,  and  unsuccessful!  because 
their  purpose  is,  not  to  accomplish  well  their  task,  but  to 
clutch  the  “trick  and  fantasy  of  fame;”  and  they  go 
to  their  graves  with  purposes  unaccomplished  and  wishes 
unfullilled.  Better  for  them,  and  for  the  world  in  their 
example,  had  the3'  known  how  to  wait ! Believe  me,  the 


^‘hypeuion”  and  “voices  of  the  night.”  233 


talent  of  success  is  nothing  more  than  doing  what  you  can 
do  well,  and  doing  well  whatever  you  do,  without  a 
thought  of  fame.  If  it  come  at  all,  it  will  come  because 
it  is  deserved,  not  because  it  is  sought  after.  And,  more- 
over, there  will  be  no  misgivings,  no  disappointment,  no 
hasty,  feverish,  exhausting  excitement.’  ” 

The  winter  has  passed  pleasantly  by,  and  spring 
has  come.  The  two  friends  hold  numerous  con- 
versations, and  discuss  many  questions  of  literary 
criticism.  Then  they  make  another  journey  together, 
visiting  Frankfort,  the  birthplace  of  Goethe.  In 
midsummer  they  part  company. 

The  next  chapters  give  us  descriptions  of  new 
scenery.  Paul  Flemming  is  travelling  in  Switzer- 
land ; and  at  Interlachen  he  meets  a former  travel- 
ling companion,  lounging  in  the  hotel. 

“ On  the  sofa  sat  a gentleman  reading,  — a stout  gentle- 
man of  perhaps  forty-live,  round,  ruddy,  and  with  a head 
which,  being  a little  bald  on  the  top,  looked  not  unlike  a 
crow’s  nest  with  one  egg  in  it.  A good-humored  face 
turned  from  the  book  as  Flemming  entered,  and  a good- 
humored  voice  exclaimed,  — 

“ ‘ Ha,  Mr.  Flemming  ! Is  it  you,  or  your  apparition? 
I told  you  we  should  meet  again,  though  you  were  for 
taking  an  eternal  farewell  of  your  fellow-traveller.’ 

“ Saying  these  words,  tlie  stout  gentleman  rose,  and 
shook  Flemming  heartily  by  the  hand.  And  Flemming 
returned  the  sliake  as  heartih^  recognizing  in  this  ruddy 
personage  a former  travelling-companion,  Mr.  IJerkley, 
whom  he  had  left,  a week  or  two  i)revious,  toiling  up  the 
Righi.  Mr.  Berkley  was  an  Englishman  of  fortune, — a 
good-humored,  humane  old  bachelor,  remarkable  alike 


234 


1IP:NRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


for  his  cotiimon  sense  and  his  eccentrieity.  Tliat  is  to 
say,  the  basis  of  his  ehai-aeter  was  good,  sound,  eorninon 
sense,  trodden  down  and  smoothed  by  edueation ; but 
this  level  groundwork  his  strange  and  wliimsieal  fancy 
used  as  a dancing-lloor  whereon  to  exhibit  her  eccentric 
tricks.  Ilis  ruling  passion  was  cold  bathing ; and  he 
usually  ate  his  breakfast  sitting  in  a tub  of  cold  water, 
and  reading  a newspaper.  He  kissed  every  child  he  met, 
and  to  every  old  man  said,  in  passing,  ‘ God  bless  you  ! ’ 
with  such  an  expression  of  voice  and  countenance,  that 
no  one  could  doubt  his  sincerity.  He  reminded  one  of 
Roger  Bontemps,  or  the  Little  Man  in  Gray,  though  with 
a difference.” 

While  they  are  conversing,  a female  figure,  clothed 
in  black,  enters  the  room,  and  sits  down  by  the  win- 
dow. Flemming  cannot  help  admiring  her,  inquires 
of  his  friend  her  name,  and  is  told  that  it  is  Mary 
Ashburton,  “ the  daughter  of  an  English  officer  who 
died  not  long  ago  at  Naples.”  She  is  the  heroine, 
and  in  the  next  chapter  we  become  better  acquainted 
with  her. 

“ Mary  Ashburton  was  in  her  twentieth  summer.  Like 
the  fair  maiden  Amoret,  she  was  sitting  in  the  lap  of 
womanhood.  They  did  her  wrong  who  said  she  was  not 
beautiful ; and  yet  — 

“ ‘ She  was  not  fair, 

Nor  beautiful : those  words  express  her  not. 

But  oh,  her  looks  had  something  excellent. 

That  wants  a name!  ’ 

“ Her  face  had  a wonderful  fascination  in  it.  It  was 
such  a calm,  quiet  face,  with  the  light  of  the  rising  soul 


“ HYPERION  ” AND  “ VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  235 


shining  so  peacefully  through  it.  At  times  it  wore  an 
expression  of  seriousness, — of  sorrow  even,  — and  then 
seemed  to  make  the  very  air  bright  with  what  the  Italian 
poets  so  beautifully  call  the  lamjyeggiar  dell’  angelico  riso, 
the  lightning  of  the  angelic  smile. 

“And  oh,  those  eyes!  those  deep,  unutterable  eyes, 
with  ‘down-falling  eyelids  full  of  dreams  and  slumber,’ 


Mary  Ashburton. 


and  within  them  a cold,  living  light,  as  in  mountain  lakes 
at  evening,  or  in  the  river  of  Paradise,  forever  gliding,  — 

“ ‘ With  a brown,  brown  current, 

Under  the  shade  perpetual,  that  never 
Ray  of  the  sun  lets  in,  nor  of  the  moon.’ 

“ I dislike  an  eye  tliat  twinkles  like  a star.  Those 
only  are  beautiful  which,  like  the  planets,  have  a steady, 
lambent  light,  — are  luminous,  but  not  sparkling.  Such 
eyes  the  Greek  poets  give  to  immortals. 


236 


HKNUY  WADSWOirni  LONGFELLOW. 


“The  lady’s  figure  was  striking.  Every  step,  every 
attitude,  was  graeeful,  and  yet  lofty,  as  if  inspired  by  the 
soul  within.  Angels  in  the  old  poetic  philosoi)hy  have 
such  forms  : it  was  the  soul  itself  imprinted  on  the  air. 
And  what  a soul  was  hers ! A temple  dedicated  to 
heaven,  and,  like  the  Pantheon  at  Rome,  lighted  only 
from  above.  And  earthly  passions  in  the  form  of  gods 
were  no  longer  there,  but  the  sweet  and  thoughtful  faces 
of  Christ  and  the  Virgin  Mary  and  the  saints.  Thus 
there  was  not  one  discordant  thing  in  her,  but  a perfect 
harmony  of  figure  and  face  and  soul,  — in  a word,  of  the 
whole  being.  And  he  who  had  a soul  to  comprehend  hers 
must  of  necessity  love  her,  and,  having  once  loved  her, 
could  love  no  other  woman  forevermore. 

“ No  wonder,  then,  that  Flemming  felt  his  heart  drawn 
towards  her,  as,  in  her  morning  walk,  she  passed  him, 
sitting  alone  under  the  great  walnut-trees  near  the  cloister, 
and  thinking  of  heaven,  not  of  her.  She,  too,  was  alone. 
Her  cheek  was  no  longer  pale,  but  glowing  and  bright, 
with  the  inspiration  of  the  summer  air.  Flemming  gazed 
after  her  till  she  disappeared,  even  as  a vision  of  his 
dreams,  he  knew  not  whither.  He  was  not  yet  in  love, 
but  very  near  it ; for  he  thanked  God  that  he  had  made 
such  beautiful  beings  to  walk  the  earth.” 

^ In  the  following  chapters  is  told  the  tale  of  the 
hero’s  love  for  Miss  Ashburton.  There  are  no  com- 
monplace incidents,  no  domestic  entanglements,  none 
of  the  apparatus  of  our  modern  novels.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  a simple  delineation  of  delicate  and  high- 
wrought  passion,  cherished  among  the  sublimest 
scenes  in  nature,  and  leading  to  a melancholy  con- 
clusion, in  perfect  harmony  with  the  general  tone  of 


237 


“HYPERION  ' AND  “VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.'’ 

the  book.  Tlie  scene  in  whidi  Paul  Flemming  de- 
clares his  love  and  is  rejected  is  highly  poetic,  and 
worthy  of  rejirodnction  : — 


Burg  Unspunnen, 


“ They  were  sitting  together  one  morning  on  tlie  green, 
Ilowery  meadow,  under  the  ruins  of  Ilurg  Unspunnen. 
She  was  sketching  the  ruins.  The  birds  were  singing, 
one  and  all,  as  if  there  were  no  aching  hearts,  no  sin  nor 


238 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONCJFELLOW. 


sorrow,  in  tlio  world.  So  motionless  was  tlu‘  l^riglit  air, 
that  the  shadow  of  the  trees  lay  engraven  on  the  grass. 
The  distant  snow-peaks  si)arkled  in  the  sun  ; and  notliing 
frowned,  save  the  square  tower  of  the  old  ruin  above  tliem. 

“ ‘What  a i>ity  it  is,’  said  the  lady,  as  she  stopped  to 
rest  her  weary  fingers,  ‘ what  a pity  it  is,  that  there  is  no 
old  tradition  connected  with  this  ruin  ! ’ 

“ - 1 will  make  you  one,  if  you  wish,’  said  Flemming. 

“ ‘ Can  you  make  old  traditions?  ’ 

“‘Oh,  yes!  I made  three,  the  other  day,  about  the 
Rhine,  and  one  very  old  one  about  the  Black  Forest.  A lady 
with  dishevelled  hair,  a robber  with  a horrible  slouched 
hat,  and  a night  storm  among  the  roaring  pines.’ 

“ ‘ Delightful ! Do  make  one  for  me.’ 

“ ‘ AYith  the  greatest  pleasure.  Where  will  you  have 
the  scene?  Here,  or  in  the  Black  Forest?’ 

“ ‘In  the  Black  Forest,  by  all  means  1 Begin.’ 

“ ‘I  will  unite  this  ruin  and  the  forest  together.  But 
first  promise  not  to  interrupt  me.  If  you  snap  the  golden 
threads  of  thought,  they  will  float  away  on  the  air  like  the 
film  of  the  gossamer ; and  I shall  never  be  able  to  recover 
them.’ 

“ ‘ I promise.’ 

“ ‘ Listen,  then,  to  the  tradition  of  “ The  Fountain  of 
Oblivion.”  ’ 

“ ‘Begin.’ 

“ Flemming  was  reclining  on  the  flowery  turf  at  the  lady’s 
feet,  looking  up  with  dreamy  eyes  into  her  sweet  face,  and 
then  into  the  leaves  of  the  linden-trees  overhead. 

“‘Gentle  lady,  dost  thou  remember  the  linden-trees 
of  Biilaeh,  — those  tall  and  stately  trees,  with  velvet  down 
upon  their  shining  leaves,  and  rustic  benches  underneath 
their  overhanging  eaves  ? A leafy  dwelling,  fit  to  be  the 
home  of  elf  or  fairy,  where  first  I told  my  love  to  thee, 


“ HYPERION  ” AND  ‘‘  VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.” 


239 


thou  cold  aud  stately  Hermione ! A little  peasant-girl 
stood  near,  and  listened  all  the  while,  with  eyes  of  wonder 
and  delight,  and  an  unconscious  smile,  to  hear  the  stranger 
still  speak  on,  in  accents  deep  yet  mild,  — none  else  was 
with  us  in  that  hour,  save  God  and  that  little  child ! ’ 

“ ‘ Why,  it  is  in  rhyme  ! ’ 

“‘No,  no!  the  rhyme  is  only  in  your  imagination. 
You  promised  not  to  interrupt  me,  and  you  have  already 
snapped  asunder  the  gossamer  threads  of  as  sweet  a dream 
as  was  ever  spun  from  a poet’s  brain.’ 

“ ‘ It  certainly  did  rhyme  ! ’ 

“ ‘ This  was  the  reverie  of  the  student  Hieronymus,  as 
he  sat  at  midnight  in  a chamber  of  this  old  tower,  with 
his  hands  clasped  together,  and  resting  upon  an  open  vol- 
ume, which  he  should  have  been  reading.  His  pale  face 
was  raised,  and  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilated,  as  if  the 
spirit- world  were  open  before  him,  and  some  beauteous 
vision  were  standing  there,  and  drawing  the  student’s  soul 
through  his  eyes  up  into  heaven,  — as  the  evening  sun, 
through  parting  summer  clouds,  seems  to  draw  into  its 
bosom  the  vapors  of  the  earth.  Oh,  it  was  a lovely  vision  ! 
I can  see  it  before  me  now  ! 

“ ‘ Near  the  student  stood  an  antique  bronze  lamp,  with 
strange  figures  carved  upon  it.  It  was  a magic  lamp, 
which  once  belonged  to  the  Arabian  astrologer  El  Geber, 
in  Spain.  Its  light  was  beautiful  as  the  light  of  stars ; 
and  night  after  night,  as  the  lonely  wight  sat  alone  and 
read  in  this  lofty  tower,  through  the  mist  and  murk  and 
dropping  rain  it  streamed  out  into  the  darkness,  and  was 
seen  by  many  wakeful  eyes.  To  the  poor  student  Hie- 
ronymus it  was  a wonderful  Aladdin’s  Lamp  ; for  in  its 
flame  a Divinity  revealed  herself  unto  him,  and  sliowed 
him  treasures.  Whenever  he  opened  a ponderous,  anti- 
quated tome,  it  seemed  as  if  some  angel  opened  for  him 


240 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


the  gates  of  Paradise  ; and  already  he  was  known  in  the 
land  as  llieronynius  the  Learned. 

“ ‘ Hut,  alas  ! he  eould  read  no  more.  The  charm  was 
broken.  Hour  after  hour  he  passed  with  his  hands  clasped 
before  him,  and  his  fair  eyes  gazing  at  vacaney.  What 
could  so  disturb  the  studies  of  this  melancholy  wight? 
Lady,  he  was  in  love  ! Have  you  ever  been  in  love  ? He 
had  seen  the  face  of  the  beautiful  Hermione  ; and  as, 
when  we  have  thoughtlessly  looked  at  the  sun,  our  dazzled 
eyes,  though  closed,  behold  it  still ; so  he  beheld  by  day 
and  by  night  the  radiant  image  of  her  upon  whom  he  had 
too  rashly  gazed.  Alas  ! he  was  unhappy  ; for  the  proud 
Hermione  disdained  the  love  of  a poor  student,  whose  only 
wealth  was  a magic  lamp.  In  marble  halls,  and  amid  the 
gay  crowd  that  worshipped  her,  she  had  almost  forgotten 
that  such  a being  lived  as  the  student  Hieronymus.  The 
adoration  of  his  heart  had  been  to  her  only  as  the  perfume 
of  a wild-flower  which  she  had  carelessly  crushed  with  her 
foot  in  passing.  But  he  had  lost  all,  for  he  had  lost  the 
quiet  of  his  thoughts  ; and  his  agitated  soul  reflected  only 
broken  and  distorted  images  of  things.  The  world  laughed 
at  the  poor  student,  who,  in  his  threadbare  cassock,  dared 
to  lift  his  eyes  to  the  lady  Hermione  ; while  he  sat  alone 
in  his  desolate  chamber,  and  suffered  in  silence.  He 
remembered  many  things  which  he  would  fain  have  for- 
gotten, but  which,  if  he  had  forgotten  them,  he  would 
have  wished  again  to  remember.  Such  were  the  linden- 
trees  of  Biilach,  under  whose  pleasant  shades  he  had  told 
his  love  to  Hermione.  This  was  the  scene  which  he  wished 
most  to  forget,  yet  loved  most  to  remember ; and  of  this 
he  was  now  dreaming,  with  his  hands  clasped  upon  his 
book,  and  that  music  in  his  thoughts,  which  you,  lady, 
mistook  for  rhyme. 

“‘Suddenly,  with  a melancholy  clang,  the  convent 


“HYPERION”  AND  “VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  241 


clock  struck  twelve.  It  roused  the  student  Hieronymus 
from  his  dream,  and  rang  in  his  ears,  like  the  iron  hoofs 
of  the  steeds  of  time.  The  magic  hour  had  come  when 
the  Divinity  of  the  lamp  most  willingly  revealed  herself 
to  her  votary.  The  bronze  figures  seemed  alive  ; a white 
cloud  rose  from  the  flame,  and  spread  itself  through  the 
chamber ; the  four  walls  dilated  into  magnificent  cloud- 
vistas  ; a fragrance,  as  of  wild-flowers,  filled  the  air ; and 
a dreamy  music,  like  distant,  sweet-chiming  bells,  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  the  midnight  Divinity.  Through 
his  streaming  tears  the  heart-broken  student  beheld  her 
once  more  descending  a pass  in  the  snowy  cloud-mountains, 
as,  at  evening,  the  dewy  Hesperus  comes  from  the  bosom 
of  the  mist,  and  assumes  his  station  in  the  sky.  At  her 
approach,  his  spirit  grew  more  calm  ; for  her  presence 
was,  to  his  feverish  heart,  like  a tropical  night,  — beauti- 
ful and  soothing  and  invigorating.  At  length  she  stood 
before  him,  revealed  in  all  her  beauty ; and  he  compre- 
hended the  visible  language  of  her  sweet  but  silent  lips, 
which  seemed  to  say,  “ What  would  the  student  Hierony- 
mus to-night?”  — “Peace!”  he  answered,  raising  his 
clasped  hands,  and  smiling  through  his  tears.  “ The  stu- 
dent Hieronymus  imploreth  peace  1 ” — “ Then  go,”  said 
the  spirit,  “ go  to  the  Fountain  of  Oblivion  in  tlie  deepest 
solitude  of  the  Black  Forest,  and  cast  this  scroll  into  its 
waters  ; and  thou  shalt  be  at  peace  once  more.”  Hierony- 
mus opened  his  arms  to  embrace  the  Divinity,  for  her 
countenance  assumed  the  features  of  Hermione  ; but  she 
vanished  away,  the  music  ceased,  the  gorgeous  cloud-land 
sank  and  fell  asunder,  and  the  student  was  alone  within 
the  four  bare  walls  of  his  chamber.  As  he  bowed  his  head 
downward,  his  eye  fell  upon  a parchment  scroll,  which  was 
lying  beside  the  lamp.  Upon  it  was  written  only  the  name 
of  Hermione ! 


242 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


“ ‘ Tlie  next  morning  Hieronymus  put  the  scroll  into 
his  bosom,  and  wont  his  way  in  search  of  the  Fountain  of 
Oblivion.  A few  days  brought  him  to  the  skirts  of  the 
Black  Forest,  lie  entered,  not  without  a feeling  of  dread, 
that  land  of  shadows,  and  passed  onward,  under  melan- 
choly pines  and  cedars,  whose  branches  grew  abroad  and 
mingled  together,  and,  as  they  swayed  up  and  down,  filled 
the  air  with  solemn  twilight  and  a sound  of  sorrow.  As 
he  advanced  into  the  forest,  the  waving  moss  hung,  like 
curtains,  from  the  branches  overhead,  and  more  and  more 
shut  out  the  light  of  heaven  ; and  he  knew  that  the  Foun- 
tain of  Oblivion  was  not  far  off.  Even  then  the  sound  of 
falling  waters  was  mingling  with  the  roar  of  the  pines 
above  him  ; and  ere  long  he  came  to  a river,  moving  in 
solemn  majesty  through  the  forest,  and  falling  with  a dull, 
leaden  sound  into  a motionless  and  stagnant  lake,  above 
which  the  branches  of  the  forest  met  and  mingled,  form- 
ing perpetual  night.  This  was  the  fountain  of  Oblivion. 

“ ‘ Upon  its  brink  the  student  paused,  and  gazed  into 
the  dark  waters  with  a steadfast  look.  They  were  limpid 
waters,  dark  with  shadows  only.  And,  as  he  gazed,  he 
beheld,  far  down  in  their  silent  depths,  dim  and  ill-defined 
outlines,  wavering  to  and  fro,  like  the  folds  of  a white 
garment  in  the  twilight.  Then  more  distinct  and  perma- 
nent shapes  arose,  — shapes  familiar  to  his  mind,  yet  for- 
gotten and  remembered  again,  as  the  fragments  of  a 
dream  ; till  at  length,  far,  far  below  him,  he  beheld  the 
great  City  of  the  Past,  with  silent  marble  streets,  and 
moss-grown  walls,  and  spires  uprising  with  a wave-like, 
flickering  motion. 

“ ‘ And  amid  the  crowd  that  thronged  those  streets,  he 
beheld  faces  once  familiar  and  dear  to  him,  and  heard 
sorrowful,  sweet  voices  singing,  oh,  forget  us  not ! forget 
us  not ! and  then  the  distant,  mournful  sound  of  funeral 


“ HYPERION  ” AND  “ VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  243 


bells,  that  were  tolling  below,  in  the  City  of  the  Past. 
But,  in  the  gardens  of  that  city,  there  were  children  play- 
ing, and  among  them  one  who  wore  his  features,  as  they 
had  been  in  childhood.  He  was  leading  a little  girl  by 
the  hand,  and  caressed  her  often,  and  adorned  her  with 
flowers.  Then,  like  a dream,  the  scene  changed,  and  the 
boy  had  grown  older,  and  stood  alone,  gazing  into  the  sky  ; 
and,  as  he  gazed,  his  countenance  changed  again  : and  Hie- 
ronymus beheld  him,  as  if  it  had  been  his  own  image  in 
the  clear  water  ; and  before  him  stood  a beauteous  maiden, 
whose  face  was  like  the  face  of  Hermione : and  he  feared 
lest  the  scroll  had  fallen  into  the  water,  as  he  bent  over 
it. 

“ ‘ Starting,  as  from  a dream,  he  put  his  hand  into  his 
bosom,  and  breathed  freely  again  when  he  found  the 
scroll  still  there.  He  drew  it  forth,  and  read  the  blessed 
name  of  Hermione  ; and  the  city  beneath  him  vanished 
away,  and  the  air  grew  fragrant  as  with  the  breath  of 
May-flowers,  and  a light  streamed  through  the  shadowy 
forest,  and  gleamed  upon  the  lake : and  the  student  Hie- 
ronymus pressed  the  dear  name  to  his  lips,  and  exclaimed, 
with  streaming  eyes,  ‘‘Oh,  scorn  me  as  tliou  wilt,  still, 
still  will  I love  thee ; and  thy  name  shall  irradiate  the 
gloom  of  my  life,  and  make  the  waters  of  Oblivion  smile  ! ” 
And  the  name  was  no  longer  Hermione,  but  was  changed 
to  Mary  ; and  the  student  Hieronymus  — is  lying  at  your 
feet ! O gentle  lady, 

‘ “ I (lid  hear  you  talk 
Far  above  singing:  after  you  were  gone, 

I grew  acquainted  with  my  heart,  and  searched 
What  stirred  it  so!  Alas!  I found  it  love.”  ’ ” 

After  the  love  passages,  Flemming  is  taken  sick 
with  a fever  and  is  nursed  by  his  English  friend.  At 


*244 


IIKNUY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


length  he  recovers ; and,  after  farther  loiterings,  he 
returns  home  to  America. 

Notwithstanding  a certain  crudeness  of  quality 
and  a turgidness  of  style  which  were  singularly 
absent  from  Mr.  Longfellow’s  poetry  at  the  same 
period,  “Hyperion”  was  extremely  popular;  and  up 
to  1 857  nearly  fifteen  thousand  copies  had  been  sold 
in  America.  There  is  no  doubt  that  it  did  great 
service  in  its  day,  and  shared  with  Carlyle’s  essays 
the  merit  of  directing  the  attention  of  English-speak- 
ing people  to  the  wealth  of  German  literature.  Even 
at  this  day  “ Hyperion  ” is  regarded  by  many  tour- 
ists as  the  best  guide  to  Heidelberg  and  the  Rhine 
region. 

In  July,  1852,  Mr.  Birket  Foster  and  a party  of 
friends  undertook  a Continental  trip,  with  the  view 
of  following  in  the  footsteps  of  the  hero  of  “ H}^pe- 
rion,”  and  of  delineating  with  scrupulous  exactness 
the  various  scenes  amid  which  its  vivid  incidents  are 
laid.  Certain  incidents  of  this  tour  are  Avorthy  of 
recount.  The  party  found  that  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel  (the  Lily)  at  Andernach,  where  Longfellow 
stopped,  still  remembered  the  poet’s  visit  with  per- 
fect distinctness.  At  Heidelberg,  the  house  near  the 
Carls  Thor,  where  the  poet  resided,  was  visited ; also, 
at  Frankfort,  Goethe’s  house.  No.  74,  in  the  Hirsch 
Graben,  was  carefully  explored.  The  room  in  which 
Goethe  was  born  was  exhibited ; also  the  visitors’ 
book,  in  which  was  the  autograph  of  Longfellow, 
which  must  have  been  added,  however,  at  a subse- 
quent visit,  in  1843.  At  the  hotel  at  Interlachen, 
the  landlord  did  not  remember  Longfellow ; but  it 


HYPERION  ” AND  “ VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  245 


afterwards  appeared  that  he  had  been  proprietor  of 
the  house  only  three  or  four  years.  The  tourists 
found  that  the  poet’s  description  of  St.  Gilgen  and 
the  adjacent. places  were  minutely  exact ; and,  on  the 
evening  of  their  arrival  at  the  inn,  they  were  lodged 
in  the  large  room  indicated  by  Longfellow  as  his 
apartment, — the  windows  of  which  were  still  lat- 
ticed, with  the  flowers  as  usual  on  the  window-sills 
and  on  the  table.  Franz  Schondorfer,  the  proprietor, 
and  his  wife,  were  of  course  verging  on  a green  old 
age.  When  his  name  was  pointed  out  to  him  in  a 
copy  of  “ Hyperion,”  the  old  man  surveyed  it 
through  his  spectacles  with  undisguised  delight, 
and,  pressing  his  Anger  against  his  breast,  said 
proudly,  ‘‘Franz  Schondorfer!  that’s  me!  that’s 
me  ! ” 

The  little  chapel  of  St.  Gilgen,  which  contains  the 
singular  inscription  that  forms,  as  it  were,  the  text 
upon  which  the  romance  of  “ Hyperion  ” was  written, 
still  stands  on  the  south  side  of  the  churchyard.  The 
inscription  itself  is  on  the  eastern  wall,  and  the  last 
part  of  it  reads  thus  : — 

“ Blicke  nicht  trauer’nd  in  die  Vergangenheit, 

Sie  komt  niclit  wieder ; niitze  Weisse  die  Gegenwart, 

Sie  ist  dein  ; der  diistern  Zukunft  gelie  ohne 
Furcht  in  it  inaiinlichen  Sinne  entgegen.” 

Or,  when  translated,  — 

“ Look  not  mournfully  into  the  Past.  It  comes 
Not  back  again.  Wisely  improve  the  present. 

It  is  thine.  Go  forth  to  meet  the  shadowy 
Future  without  fear,  and  with  a manly  heart.” 


240 


HKNIIY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Tlie  tourists  were  absent  from  IjOikIoii  about  six 
weeks;  and  (luring  that  time  they  became  thoroughly 
familiarized  with  every  ]>age  of  “ IIyj)eri()u,”  — ‘‘a 
noble  work,”  as  tliey  assert,  ‘‘  on  wliich  its  author 
might  be  well  content  to  rest  his  hope  of  future 


Chapel  of  St.  Gilgen. 


fame,  even  if  he  could  not  proudly  point  to  innumer- 
able other  examples  of  his  genius,  that  will  perish 
only  with  the  language  in  which  his  thoughts  liave 
found  expression.” 

It  was  in  the  year  1834  that  Longfellow  sent  Ids 
first  contribution  to  The  Knickerbocker.”  In  May 
of  that  year  appeared  the  first  instalment  of  what 


“hypefwIon”  and  “voices  of  the  night.”  247 


promised  to  be  a serial  publication,  entitled  “ The 
Blank-Book  of  a Country  Schoolmaster.”  The  work 
is  little  more  than  a series  of  supposed  excerpts  from  a 
teacher’s  Journal ; and,  in  the  first  number,  there  are 
six  of  these,  headed  respectively,  “ Saturday  After- 
noon,” “ An  Old  Saying,”  “ A Passage  from  Dante,” 
“ The  Happy  Man  and  the  Lucky  Dog,”  “ Midnight 
Devotion,”  and  “ Intellect.”  As  a specimen  of  the 
manner  and  style  which  pervade  the  whole  produc- 
tion, I here  reprint  the  following  : — 

“ It  is  Saturday  afternoon.  Once  more  the  school- 
house  door  has  creaked  upon  its  hebdomadal  hinges ; 
the  dog-eared  book  yawns  upon  the  deserted  desk ; 
the  flies  are  buzzing  and  bumping  their  heads 
against  the  sunny  window;  the  schoolboy  is  abroad 
in  the  woods ; and  the  schoolmaster  has  laid  his 
birchen  sceptre  upon  the  shelf,  and  with  it  the  cares 
and  solicitudes  of  another  week. 

“ Saturday  afternoon  ! delightful  season,  when  the 
mind,  like  a tired  artisan,  lays  down  his  implements 
of  toil,  and  leaves  the  long-accustomed  handicraft  I 
How  sweet,  amid  the  busy  avocations  of  the  week,  to 
look  forward  to  this  short  interval  of  repose,  when, 
for  a time  at  least,  the  grinding  shall  cease,  and  the 
heart  be  permitted  to  indulge  its  secret  longings,  and 
listen  to  the  soft  whispers  of  its  own  wayward  fan- 
cies ! Surely  the  feelings  of  the  schoolboy  linger 
around  me  still.  I love  the  dolce  far  niente  of  Satur- 
day afternoon ! 

“ It  is  an  interlude  between  the  swift-succeeding 
acts  of  life ; the  close  of  a seven  days’  journey ; a 
golden  clasp  that  shuts  each  weekly  volume  of  our 


248 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


history ; a goal  where  time  pauses  to  rest  his  wing 
and  turn  his  glass ; a type  of  that  longer  interval  of 
rest,  when  our  evening  sun  shall  be  going  down, 
when  our  lengthening  shadows  shall  point  towards 
morning,  and  we  shall  be  looking  forward  to  an  eter- 
nal sabbath ! ” 

The  second  instalment  of  “ The  Blank-Book  ” was 
published  in  the  September  number  of  the  magazine. 
It  was  made  up  of  short  articles  on  the  following 
subjects  : ‘‘  Imitation,”  “An  Obituary,”  “ A Cure  for 
Celibacy,”  “ The  Christian  Fathers,”  “ Plagiarists,” 
“ Poetry,”  and  “ Where  is  Peter  Grimm  ? ” The 
last  named  contains  the  author’s  version  of  an 
old  German  song,  “ The  Song  of  the  Rhine,”  begin- 
ning, — 

“ Forth  rolled  the  Rhiiie-stream  strong  and  deep, 
Beneath  Helvetia’s  Alpine  steep, 

And  joined  in  youthful  company, 

Its  fellow-travellers  to  the  sea,”  etc. 

I may  remark,  in  passing,  that  the  December  num- 
ber of  the  magazine  contained  a humorous  sketch,  in 
the  form  of  a story,  entitled  “ The  Set  of  China ; ” 
also  an  extract  from  an  unpublished  poem,  entitled 
“ The  Dead,”  — both  of  them  by  Longfellow.  The 
extract  is  here  given  entire  : — 

“ The  spirits  of  the  loved  and  the  departed 
Are  with  us,  and  they  tell  us  of  the  sky, — 

A rest  for  the  bereaved  and  broken-hearted, 

A house  not  made  with  hands,  a home  on  high  ; 

Holy  monitions  — a mysterious  breath  — 

A whisper  from  the  marble  halls  of  death. 


HYPERION  ” AND  “ VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  249 


They  have  gone  from  us,  and  the  grave  is  strong: 

Yet  in  night’s  silent  watches  they  are  near ; 

Their  voices  linger  round  us,  as  the  song 
Of  the  sweet  sky-lark  lingers  on  the  ear. 

When  floating  upward,  in  the  flush  of  even. 

Its  form  is  lost  from  earth,  and  swallowed  up  in  heaven.” 


“Knickerbocker”  for  January,  1835,  contained 
No.  3 of  “ The  Blank-Book.”  In  it  were  the  follow- 
ing headings:  “History,”  “A  Wise  Saw,”  “Au- 
tumn,” and  “ The  Death  of  the  Young.”  Here  the 
serial  ended,  cut  short  probably  by  the  author’s 
rather  sudden  departure  for  Europe.  However,  in 
the  same  issue  of  the  magazine  appeared  an  article 
on  “ The  Rosicrucian  Philosophy,”  written  by  Long- 
fellow, also  another  unfinished  poetic  fragment  en- 
titled “The  Soul.”  The  June  number  contained  a 
poem  of  sixty-three  lines,  entitled  “ Apostrophe  to 
Time,”  which  was  written  by  Mr.  Longfellow  in  the 
preceding  month  of  May,  at  the  time  of  his  visit  at 
the  home  of  Shakspeare. 

During  his  absence  abroad  Mr.  Longfellow  con- 
tributed nothing  to  the  magazine,  with  the  single  ex- 
ception of  the  poem  last  mentioned.  On  his  return 
home,  however,  he  again  took  up  the  pen  in  its  be- 
half. In  December,  1837,  there  appeared  in  tlie 
pages  of  “ Knickerbocker  ” a poem  entitled  “ Floral 
Astrology,”  beginning, — 

“ Spake  full  well,  in  language  quaint  and  olden. 

One  who  dwelleth  by  the  castled  Rhine, 

When  he  called  the  flowers,  so  blue  and  golden. 

Stars,  that  in  earth’s  firmament  do  shine.” 


250 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


This  poem  is  the  first  one,  I believe,  which  was  pub- 
licly acknowledged  by  its  author.  It  is  signed, 
“Cambridge  University,  II.  W.  Longfellow.”  All 
of  the  earlier  poems  and  translations,  also  all  the 
prose  articles,  by  the  same  writer,  either  bore  the 
simple  signature  “ H.  W.  *L.,”  or  “ L,”  or  nothing 
whatsoever. 

Through  the  years  1838  and  1839  Mr.  Longfellow 
wrote  several  poems,  and  published  them  in  “ The 
Knickerbocker  Magazine.”  Of  these  I purpose  to 
speak  presently. 

Late  in  the  autumn  of  1839  Mr.  Longfellow  pub- 
lished his  first  volume  of  poems,  under  the  general 
title  of  the  “ Voices  of  the  Night.”  In  this  little 
book  of  one  hundred  and  forty-four  pages  he  in- 
cluded seven  of  his  earlier  pieces,  which  appeared 
first  in  “ The  United-States  Literary  Gazette ; ” 
twenty-three  translations,  a few  of  which  had  already 
been  printed,  either  in  “ The  Knickerbocker  ” or  in 
“ The  North  American  Review;”  and  eight  poems  of 
later  date,  of  which  six  had  appeared  in  “ The  Knick- 
erbocker,” together  with  a poetic  prelude.  The  vol- 
ume was  brought  out  at  Cambridge  by  Mr.  John 
Owen  ; and  the  following  was  the  title-page  : “ Voices 
of  the  Night.  By  H.  W.  Longfellow.  Cambridge : 
published  by  John  Owen.  1839.”  It  comprised,  as 
before  stated,  one  hundred  and  forty-four  pages,  and 
the  size  was  a sixteen  mo.  Like  many  other  publica- 
tions of  that  day,  the  book  was  bound  in  a light 
cream-colored  flexible  paper  cover,  decorated  with 
elaborate  colored  designs.  On  the  front  cover  was  a 
landscape  scene  by  night,  half  concealed  by  a drawn 


“HYPElcrON”  AND  “VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  251 


curtain.  As  a whole,  the  general  style  and  make-up 
of  the  book  was  unique,  and,  when  looked  upon  to- 
day, is  indeed  a great  curiosity. 

Mr.  Owen’s  recollections  of  the  publication  of  the 
work  are  interesting ; and  I will  now  give  them  in  his 
own  words,  as  repeated  to  me  : ^ — 

“At  the  time  when  I published  ‘Voices  of  the 
Night,’  I had  been  carrying  on  the  book-business 
alone  for  nearly  three  years.  But  I had  been  en- 
gaged in  the  business  since  1834  or  thereabouts. 
During  the  years  following  Mr.  Longfellow’s  arrival 
in  Cambridge,  the  poet — “the  Professor”  we  called 
him  then  — used  often  to  drop  into  the  store  ; indeed, 
I think  I saw  him  about  every  day.  When,  in  1837, 
he  went  to  live  in  the  Craigie  Plouse,  I frequently 
called  upon  him  there,  especially  in  the  evening. 
When  Longfellow  first  came  to  Cambridge  in  1835, 
I believe  that  I was  the  one  whom  he  sought  first. 
He  told  me  that  he  had  been  invited  to  take  Pro- 
fessor Ticknor’s  place  in  the  college,  and  that  he 
had  virtually  accepted,  and  was  now  about  to 
make  another  trip  to  Europe.  It  was  a bitter  cold 
day,  as  1 well  remember,  when  we  walked  over  into 
the  College  Square.  We  were  just  nearing  old 
‘ Massachusetts  Hall,’  when  we  met  Felton,  to  whom 
I introduced  my  old  friend  and  schoolmate.  They 
became  sociable  at  once : Longfellow  was  invited  by 
Felton  to  call  upon  him  before  he  should  leave  Cam- 
bridge. In  a day  or  so  afterwards  Longfellow 
called  ; and  there  he  first  saw  and  became  acquainted 
with  Sumner,  who  was  a great  favorite  of  Felton’s, 
and  was  practising  law  in  Boston. 


252 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


“ Well,  now,  to  go  back  to  the  book.  Longfellow 
returned  from  Europe  in  1837,  and  in  the  same  year 
Sumner  went  to  Europe.  Longfellow  began  writing 
poetry  again,  and  sent  a number  of  pieces  off  to  New 
York  to  be  published.  The  ‘Psalm  of  Life’  came 
out  in  the  fall  of  1838,  and  was  copied  extensively 
throughout  the  country,  without  any  name  attached, 
however;  for  no  one,  except  the  editors  of  the  maga- 
zine in  which  it  was  published  and  a few  of  the 
poet’s  personal  friends,  knew  who  wrote  it.  After 
that,  other  poems  by  Longfellow  appeared  in  the 
periodical;  and  they,  too,  were  copied  into  many 
newspapers.  Along  in  the  summer  of  1839,  — I 
think  it  was  just  after  Commencement,  — I asked  Mr. 
Longfellow  why  he  did  not  reprint  his  poems  in  a 
volume,  and  suggested  to  him  that  it  was  then  about 
time  to  acknowledge  the  authorship  of  them.  He 
replied  that  he  would  think  the  matter  over,  and  let 
me  know  further.  One  night,  when  the  harvest 
moon  never  shone  brighter,  we  were  sitting  looking 
out  of  the  window  at  his  room  in  the  Craigie  House : 
the  subject  of  the  book  came  up  again ; and  he  told 
me,  that,  if  he  could  find  a publisher,  he  would  pre- 
pare the  volume  for  the  press.  I suggested  to  him 
that  I would  like  to  be  his  publisher,  to  which  he 
assented. 

“ In  due  time  he  brought  me  ‘ copy  ’ for  the  book, 
which  ‘ copy  ’ included  all  of  the  later  poems  and 
several  translations.  At  Felton’s  suggestion,  he 
agreed  to  include  also  a few  of  his  earlier  poems ; 
and  it  took  him  quite  a while  to  decide  which  ones 
to  choose.  The  terms  of  publication  had  already 


“ HYPERION  ” AND  “ VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  253 


been  agreed  upon.  When  it  came  to  setting  up  the 
title-page,  Mr.  Longfellow,  at  the  last  moment,  re- 
fused to  allow  his  name  to  go  on.  I objected  to  this 
turn  of  mind,  and  appealed  to  his  friends.  After  a 
little  delay,  he  came  in  one  morning,  and  quietly  but 
abruptly  told  me  to  go  ahead  in  my  own  way ; 
which  I did  by  printing  his  name  on  the  title.  The 
book  camo  out  at  last.  I don’t  believe  he  ever  re- 
gretted following  my  advice.  I have  often  remarked 
to  him  since,  that,  if  he  had  insisted  upon  the  book 
being  issued  anonymously,  he  would  have  thrown 
away  the  best  opportunity  a man  ever  had  of  making 
a reputation.  The  ‘ Psalm  of  Life  ’ would  have  been 
admired  none  the  less,  but  the  author  of  it  would 
have  had  but  little  of  the  credit  that  was  his  due. 
The  ‘Voices  of  the  Night’  was  of  course  a success. 
When  Sumner  came  home  from  Europe,  early  the 
next  year,  we  all  had  a ‘ little  time  ’ celebrating  the 
hon  voyage  of  the  book.  But  I shall  tell  you  nothing 
about  that.” 

In  the  collected  edition  of  the  poet’s  works,  as 
indeed  in  the  original  volume,  the  “ Voices  of  the 
Night  ” includes  the  following  poems : “ Prelude,” 
“ Hymn  to  the  Night,”  “ A Psalm  of  Life,”  “ The 
Reaper  and  the  Flowers,”  “ The  Light  of  Stars,” 
“ Footsteps  of  Angels,”  “ Flowers,”  “ The  Beleaguered 
City,”  and  “Midnight  Mass  for  the  Dying  Year.”  I 
will  now  speak  of  these  in  the  order  of  their  first 
appearance  in  print.  The  earlier  poems  and  trans- 
lations will  not  be  referred  to  further. 

The  poem  that  bears  the  name  “ Flowers  ” Avas 
identical  with  “Floral  Astrology,”  published  in  “The 


254 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Knickerbocker  ” in  December,  1837.  “ The  ideas  ex- 

pressed in  the  poem,”  said  the  poet  to  me  one  day, 
‘‘  were  suggested  to  me  while  I was  in  Europe,  after 
I liad  been  reading  a very  curious  German  book. 
My  knowledge  of  flowers  and  of  tlie  science  of  bot- 
any is  very  crude : I admire  them,  without  troubling 
myself  about  their  names.” 

The  never-to-be-forgotten  “ Psalm  of  Life,”  signed 
“ L.,”  was  first  printed  in  “ The  Knickerbocker  ” in 
September,  1838. 

“ After  I had  translated  ‘ Coplas  de  Manrique,’  ” 
said  the  poet,  “ my  mind  was  haunted  for  a long 
time  with  gloomy  thoughts.  I seemed  to  have 
a perfect  fear  of  death.  With  the  lesson  of  later 
years  came  also  a re-action.  Came  suddenly  the 
feelings  which  I tried  to  express  in  the  ‘ Psalm  of 
Life.’  It  was  written  in  my  chamber,  as  I sat  look- 
ing out  at  the  morning  sun,  admiring  the  beauty  of 
God’s  creations  and  the  excellence  of  his  plan.  The 
poem  was  not  printed  until  some  months  later,  and 
even  then  with  reluctance.” 

It  is  not  too  much  to  affirm  that  this  little  song  of 
life  is  perhaps  the  most  famous  of  the  productions 
of  its  distinguished  author.  Few  poems  have  been 
oftener  committed  to  memory,  or  have  penetrated 
deej)er  into  the  human  heart.  The  poet  often  told 
the  following  incident : he  was  once  riding  through 
one  of  the  streets  of  London,  when  a laboring-man 
came  up  to  the  carriage,  and  inquired,  “ Are  you  the 
writer  of  the  ‘ Psalm  of  Life  ’ ? ” He  replied  that  he 
was.  “ Will  you  allow  me  to  take  you  by  the 
hand  ? ” The  two  shook  hands,  and  the  carriage 


“HYPERION”  AND  “VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  255 


was  driven  on.  “ That  compliment,”  said  Mr.  Long- 
fellow, “ gave  me  more  happiness  than  any  I have 
ever  received.” 

In  a letter  dated  “ 15th  of  October,  1842,”  and  ad- 
dressed by  Sumner  to  Longfellow,  while  the  latter 
was  in  Europe,  occurs  the  following : — 

“ A few  days  ago  an  old  classmate,  upon  whom 
the  world  had  not  smiled,  came  to  my  office  to  prove 
some  debts  before  me  in  bankruptcy.  While  writing 
the  formal  parts  of  the  paper,  I inquired  about  his 
reading,  and  the  books  which  interested  him  now. 
I believe  he  has  been  a great  reader.  He  said  that 
he  read  very  little  ; that  he  hardly  found  any  thing 
which  was  written  from  the  heart,  and  was  really 
true.  ‘ Have  you  read  Longfellow’s  “ Hyperion  ” ? ’ 
I said.  ‘Yes,’  he  replied,  ‘and  I admire  it  very 
much  : I think  it  a very  great  book.’  He  then  added 
in  a very  solemn  manner,  ‘ I think  I may  say  that 
Longfellow’s  “ Psalm  of  Life  ” saved  me  from  sui- 
cide. I first  found  it  on  a scrap  of  newspaper,  in  the 
hands  of  two  Irishwomen,  soiled  and  worn  ; and  I 
was  at  once  touched  by  it.'  Think,  my  dear  friend, 
of  this  soul  into  which  you  have  poured  the  waters 
of  life.  Such  a tribute  is  higher  than  the  words  of 
Rogers,  much  as  I value  them.” 

The  sweet  poem  bearing  the  title  of  “ The  Reaper 
and  the  Flowers  ” was  originally  published  in  The 
Knickerbocker,”  in  January,  1839,  under  the  name 
of  “A  Psalm  of  Death.”  It  was  signed  “ L.”  In 
the  same  number  appeared  “ A Second  Psalm  of 
Life,”  now  familiar  as  “ The  Light  of  Stars : ” it  was 
signed  “ L.”  Mr.  Fields  states  that  “ The  Reaper 


256 


JIKNUY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


and  the  Flowers  ” came  without  effort,  crystallized 
into  the  poet’s  mind  ; and  that  “ The  Light  of  Stars  ” 
was  composed  on  a serene  and  beautiful  summer 
evening,  exactly  suggestive  of  the  poem. 

In  May,  1839,  appeared  in  “ The  Knickerbocker  ” 
“ Voices  of  the  Night,”  a third  psalm  of  life.  It  be- 
gan, — 

“ When  the  hours  of  day  are  numbered. 

And  the  voices  of  the  night 
Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered. 

To  a holy,  calm  delight,”  etc. 

Most  people  will  recognize  these  lines  as  being  those 
of  the  opening  stanza  of  the  “ Footsteps  of  Angels,” 
the  title  finally  selected  by  the  poet.  The  origin  of 
the  poem  may  be  easily  surmised.  I refrain  from  re- 
peating it  as  it  was  told  to  me  by  Mr.  Longfellow. 

“ The  Fifth  Psalm  ” was  first  printed  in  “ The 
Knickerbocker  ” in  October,  1839.  It  now  bears  the 
title  of  a “ Midnight  Mass  for  the  Dying  Year,”  and 
opens  with  the  lines,  — 

“ Yes,  the  year  is  growing  old. 

And  his  eye  is  pale  and  bleared : 

Death,  with  frosty  hand  and  cold, 

Plucks  the  old  man  by  the  beard, 

Sorely,  sorely ! ” 

“ The  original  draught  of  this  poem,”  said  Mr.  Long- 
fellow, “ was  written  in  Heidelberg.  I re-wrote  it 
afterwards,  making  many  changes.  It  came  to  me 
naturally.” 

In  the  November  number  of  the  magazine,  a cap- 
tious critic  raised  the  following  question.  He  wrote. 


I 


1 


A • t 


3L 

. ^ -*-i 


i»  "I } 


• 1 


I. 


Q_X-w 


V 


f ^ \.Jo  -w>-» 


(T 


3^s  oilw- 

«>4^  0-J3  Cs^ 


feo 


(L^ 


, ^zzr~ 
4-A>x  ^ 


o»%^  ’^'A 


rN>-L-J“> 


oC. 


st_  A*^  csJL^ 


lxx=^,.,_j^  CU^J  <ijsa<.  JL. 

a?l  o^>-  vx^c^  Ux.  u 


\ 


«k_y 


r^ 

[ 
f * 


f 


F' 


<r>oiL^v^ 


^csr-r 


\ 


“ HYPERION  ” AND  ‘‘  VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT.”  25T 


“ The  October  number  of  ‘ The  Knickerbocker,’  al- 
though received  rather  late,  has  been  devoured  most 
greedily  by  our  literary  gourmands.  The  German- 
like  solemnity  and  wildness  of  Professor  Longfellow’s 
fifth  psalm  is  incomparable.  Could  Goethe  or  Schil- 
ler be  privileged  to  read  it  once,  I think  they  would 
read  it  again.  However,  some  few  of  Mr.  Longfel- 
low’s admirers  are  sadly  puzzled,  or,  to  say  the  least, 
suspicious  of  their  knowledge,  in  relation  to  the 
‘ wind  Euroclydon  ! ’ ‘ The  euphony  of  the  stanza  is 

capital,’  say  they;  ‘but  Euroclydon  ! what  in  the  name 
of  Boreas  does  it  on  the  coast  of  Labrador?’  Gentle- 
men, poetry  licenses  a wind  to  blow  where  it  listeth ! 

‘ Out  on  your  licenses!  ’ say  they  : the  ‘ Euroclydon 
is  a bilious  nor’easter,  and  bloweth  only  in  the  Med- 
iterranean.’ I beg  to  be  informed.” 

In  the  next  issue  a southern  correspondent  came 
to  the  rescue,  and  defended  the  poet  with  all  the 
chivalry  of  true  scholarship.  He  said,  “What  makes 
your  friend  imagine  that  this  wind  blows  only  in  the 
Mediterranean  ? Because  it  was  first  called  ‘ Euro- 
clydon ’ in  those  regions  ? The  same  may  be  said  of 
Boreas  and  sirocco.  No : the  word  indicates  a north- 
east wind,  coming  over  the  sea.  Look  into  any  good 
Greek  lexicon,  and  you  will  find  some  such  defini- 
tion. The  only  place  in  which  I have  ever  seen  the 
word  used  before,  is  in  Paul's  shipwreck,  in  the 
Acts.  Just  consult  Kobinson’s  Greek  and  English 
lexicon  of  the  New  Testament : EvooxXvdcov,  Eurocly- 
don, a tempestuous  wind  ; Acts  xxvii.  14  ; from  Ev(io^‘, 
curus,  east  wind,  and  xlvdoor^,  a wave.’  Passow,  a 
great  authority,  defines  it,  ‘ A violent  storm-wind,. 


258 


]IENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


which  throws  up  tlie  waves  of  the  sea.’  I could  give 
some  dozen  authorities,  were  it  necessary.  You  may 
rely  u])on  it,  Professor  Longfellow  knew  wliat  he  was 
saying  when  he  used  the  word.”  ^ 

Of  the  remaining  poems  which  were  included  in 
tlie  “ Voices  of  the  Night,”  it  is  unnecessary  here  to 
speak.  “ That  little  volume,”  says  Professor  Ever- 
ett, “ formed  an  ej^och  in  our  history.  It  breathed 
his  — Longfellow’s — whole  spirit,  his  energy,  his 
courage,  his  tenderness,, his  faith  : it  formed  the  prel- 
ude of  all  that  should  come  after.”  “ I would  rather 
be  the  author,”  wrote  Sumner  to  his  friend.  Dr.  Lie- 
ber,  “of  ‘A  Psalm  of  Life,’  ‘ The  Light  of  Stars,’ 
‘ The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers,’  and  ‘ Excelsior,’  than 
those  rich  pieces  of  Gray.  I think  Longfellow  with- 
out rival  near  his  throne  in  America.  I might  go 
farther : I doubt  if  there  is  any  poet  now  alive,  and 
not  older  than  he,  who  has  written  so  much  and  so 
well.” 

1 According  to  the  Greek-English  lexicon  of  Liddell  and  Scott, 
the  word  Earodydon  seems  to  mean  a storm  from  the  east : hut 
the  readings  vary  remarkably,  and  the  most  probable  is  evpaKv\iov 
(Latin  Vulgate  Euro-aquilo),  i.e.,  a north-east  wind;”  and  this  is 
adopted  by  Lachm;  cf.  evpoi/oro?.  ” It  is  now  called  Greyulia,  the 
most  violent  wind  in  the  Mediterranean,  usually  blowing  in  the 
early  spring.” 


‘‘BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS.”  259 


CHAPTER  X. 

“BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS.’ 

{1840-7842.) 

IN  “The  North-American  Review”  for  October^ 
1840,  appeared  an  article  on  “ The  -French  Lan- 
guage in  England.”  In  this  paper  Professor  Long- 
fellow proposed  to  trace  the  history  of  the  French 
language  through  the  English  statute-books,  etc. 
He  admits,  at  the  start,  that  the  theme  is  a barren 
one  for  most  readers,  but  at  the  same  time  entreats 
them  “ not  to  turn  away  from  these  pages  without 
first  casting  a glance  at  our  illustrations.  They  are 
curious  and  amusing,  and  throw  a gleam  of  light, 
now  and  then,  upon  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
past.  On  this  account  they  will  commend  them- 
selves to  the  notice  of  those  who  care  not  for  the 
curiosities  of  language.” 

■The  great  success  which  attended  the  publication 
of  the  “Voices  of  the  Night”  encouraged  Professor 
Longfellow  to  continue  his  work  in  the  realm  of 
poetry.  In  the  autumn  of  1841  he  published  “ Bal- 
lads and  other  Poems,”  ^ one  of  the  choicest  volumes 
which  he  ever  gave  to  the  public,  and  the  contents 

1 Ballads  and  other  Poems,  by  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow, 
author  of  Voices  of  the  Night,  Hyperion,  etc.  Cambridge:  John 
Owen.  [12mo,  pp.  132.] 


'260 


HENKY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


of  which  the  memories  of  all  readers  of  poetry  invol- 
untarily retain. 

The  first  piece  in  this  volume  was  The  Skeleton 
in  Armor,”  a most  successful  attempt  to  represent  in 
English  the  spirit  of  the  northern  legend.  “This 
ballad  was  suggested  to  me,”  said  Professor  Long- 
fellow, “ while  riding  on  the  seashore  at  Newport. 


Round  Tower,  Newport,  R.l 


A year  or  two  previous  a skeleton  had  been  dug  up 
at  Fall  River,  clad  in  broken  and  corroded  armor ; 
and  the  idea  occurred  to  me  of  connecting  it  with  the 
Round  Tower  at  Newport,  generally  known  hitherto 
as  the  Old  Windmill,  though  now  claimed  by  the 
Danes  as  a work  of  their  early  ancestors.” 

Mr.  Samuel  Ward  gives  the  following  reminis- 


261 


“ BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS.” 

cences  of  the  poem,  which,  barring  a single  error,  are 
important : — 

“ I remember  once  his  writing  to  me  to  come  on 
next  Sunday,  as  he  had  something  to  show  me  and 
to  consult  me  about.  I obeyed  the  call  with  alacrity, 
and  reached  the  house,  as  usual,  in  season  for  a tub 
before  breakfast.  It  was  his  habit,  during  the  boiling 
of  his  coffee-kettle,  to  work,  at  a standing-desk,  upon 
a translation  of  Dante.  So  soon  as  the  kettle  hissed, 
he  folded  his  portfolio,  not  to  resume  that  work  until 
the  following  morning.  In  this  wise,  by  devoting 
ten  minutes  a day  during  many  years,  the  lovely 
work  grew,  like  a coral  reef,  to  its  completion.  On 
the  morning  of  the  day  in  question,  however,  that 
task  was  relinquished ; and,  after  breakfast,  he  told 
me  that  he  had  recently  written  a poem,  which  smiled 
to  him,  but  which  his  habitual  counsellors  and  com- 
panions— who  I presume  were  Charles  Sumner,  C.  C. 
Felton,  and  George  S.  Hillard  — had  frowned  upon 
as  beneath  the  plane  of  his  previous  lyrical  perform- 
ances. He  then  proceeded  to  read  me  ‘ The  Skeleton 
in  Armor,’  which  so  stirred  my  blood  that  I took  the 
manuscript  from  his  hands  and  read  it  to  him,  with 
more  dramatic  force  than  his  modesty  had  permitted 
him  to  display.  This  may  have  been  presumptuous 
on  my  part ; but  I remember,  when  I came  to  the 
crescendo^  — 


“ ‘ As  with  his  wings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt. 
With  his  prey  laden  ; 


262 


HENllY  WADSW(JKTH  LONGFELLOW. 


So  toward  the  open  main, 

Beating  to  sea  again 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 

Bore  I the  maiden,’  — 

he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  embraced  me.  The  doubt- 
ing Thomases  were  at  a discount  that  morning.  This 
j)oem  revealed  to  me  his  methods  of  work.  After  the 
emotions  of  mutual  satisfaction  had  subsided,  he  told 
me  that  he  had  carried  the  scheme  in  his  head  ever 
since  the  previous  summer,  when,  after  having  visited, 
with  a cavalcade  of  my  brothers  and  sisters,  — among 
whom  was  the  present  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe,  — the 
skeleton  in  armor,  dug  up  at  Taunton,  and  then 
visible  in  a museum  at  Fall  River  — since  burned  to 
the  ground,  — he  challenged  my  sister,  in  their  home 
gallop  over  the  Newport  beaches,  to  make  a poem 
out  of  the  rusty  hauberk  and  grim  bones  they  had 
been  inspecting.  ‘ That,’  said  he,  ‘ was  nearly  a year 
ago ; and  the  poem  only  flashed  upon  me  last  week.’ 
It  will  be  remembered  that  the  closing  scene  is  laid 

“ ‘ In  that  tower 

Which,  to  this  very  hour, 

Is  looking  seaward.’ 

“And  now  comes  a curious  illustration  of  the 
market  value  of  poetry  past  and  present.  I proposed 
to  take  the  manuscript  to  New  York,  and  sell  it  for 
not  less  than  fifty  dollars.  On  my  return  thither, 
my  first  visit  was  to  the  poet  Halleck,  at  his  desk  in 
the  dingy  counting-house  of  the  primeval  John  Jacob 
Astor,  in  Prince  Street.  We  had  often  talked  about 
Longfellow ; and  Halleck  felt  and  displayed  a lively 


“BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


263 


appreciation  of  his  genius,  which  he  denied  to  the 
English  laureate,  whom  we  all  venerate.  The  old 
poet  was  delighted  with  this  new  effusion  of  his 
younger  lyrical  brother ; and,  knowing  the  value  of 
his  opinion  in  the  eyes  of  our  literati,  I asked  him  to 
express  his  admiration  in  a few  brief  words  at  the 
foot  of  the  manuscript.  If  I remember  rightly, 
the  inscription  ran,  ‘ 1 unhesitatingly  pronounce  the 
above  to  be,  in  my  opinion.  Professor  Longfellow’s 
finest  effort.’  This  was  duly  signed ; and  I rushed 
down  to  Louis  Gaylord  Clarke,  of  ‘ The  Knicker- 
bocker Magazine,’  who  stood  aghast  when  I an- 
nounced the  price  of  this  poem,  he  having  only  paid 
twenty -five  dollars  for  its  predecessors.  The  intrin- 
sic beauty  of  the  lyric,  which  by  this  time  I had 
learned  to  read  with  tolerable  effect,  overcame  a re- 
luctance to  which  his  poverty,  not  his  will,  consented ; 
and  I had  pride  and  pleasure  in  remitting  the  fifty 
dollars  to  Cambridge  that  evening.” 

The  poem  was  first  given  to  the  world  in  the  pages 
of  “The  Knickerbocker,”  in  its  issue  of  January,  1841. 
There  is  a statement  in  the  foregoing  recollections 
of  Mr.  Ward’s  which  does  not  tally  with  a remark 
made  to  me  by  the  poet  liimself,  and  which  is  now 
recorded  in  my  note-book.  In  answer  to  my  inquiry, 
Mr.  Longfellow  stated  that  he  was  promised  five 
dollars  each  for  his  contributions  to  “ The  Knicker- 
bocker;” but  that  the  sum-total  received  did  not 
amount  to  that.  He  then  added,  “ The  brothers 
Clarke  were  noble  fellows,  and  were  struggling  hard 
in  those  days  for  a livelihood.  I have  no  reason  to 
complain  of  what  they  did  for  me.” 


264 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


As  originally  printed  in  the  magazine,  the  poem 
was  accompanied  by  a running  commentary,  which 
for  some  reason  or  other  the  poet  saw  fit  to  aban- 
don. 

The  next  poem  in  the  volume  was  “The  Wreck 
of  the  Hesperus,”  an  admirable  imitation  of  an  old 
English  ballad.  The  piece  is  of  course  familiar  to 
most  readers ; but  I cannot  forbear  to  quote  the  fol- 
lowing stanzas,  which  have  surpassing  descriptive 
beauty : — 

“ Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A gale  from  the  north-east, 

The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 
The  vessel  in  its  strength  : 

She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a frightened  steed. 
Then  leaped  her  cable’s  length. 


And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow. 

Like  a sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman’s  Woe. 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between, 

A sound  came  from  the  land : 

It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf 
On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a dreary  wreck. 

And  a whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 
Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 


“ BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


265 


99 


She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 
Looked  soft  as  carded  wool ; 

But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side 
Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 

With  the  masts  went  by  the  board ; 

Like  a vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 

Ho  ! ho  ! the  breakers  roared  ! 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  ! 

Christ  save  us  all  from  a death  like  this 
On  the  reef  of  Norman’s  Woe  ! ” 

“ This  is  one  of  the  poems,”  said  Mr.  Longfellow 
one  day,  “which  I like  to  recall.  It  floats  in  my 
mind  again  and  again,  whenever  I read  of  some  of 
our  frightful  storms  on  the  coast.  Away  back  in 
the  year  when  the  ‘Voices  of  the  Night’  was  pub- 
lished, in  the  closing  month  of  the  year,  the  New- 
England  coast  was  lashed  by  a terrible  tempest ; and 
there  were  numerous  shipwrecks  recorded.  I re- 
member reading  in  the  newspapers  one  day  of  the 
loss  of  a schooner  on  the  reef  of  Norman’s  Woe, 
called  ‘The  Hesperus.’  Norman’s  Woe  is,  as  you  are 
aware,  a frowning  mass  of  rocks,  surrounded  by  the 
ocean,  not  far  from  Gloucester.  It  occurred  to  me  to 
write  a ballad,  which  I did  some  days  afterwards, 
while  I was  sitting  alone  one  night  by  the  fire  in  the 
room  above.  It  required  two  sittings  to  complete  it, 
both  in  the  same  night,  however.” 

The  poem  was  sent  to  Mr.  Park  Benjamin,  and  by 
him  was  printed  in  “The  New  World,”  in  January, 


266  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

1840.  Mr.  Longfellow  received  twenty-five  dollars 
for  the  production. 

“ The  Luck  of  Edenhall  ” is  a translation  from  the 
German  of  Uhland,  and  The  Elected  Knight  ” 
a translation  from  the  Danish.  The  three  maidens 
spoken  of  in  the  piece  are  supposed  to  be  Eaith, 
Hope,  and  Charity.  Still  another  translation  is  “ Tlie 
Two  Locks  of  Hair,”  one  of  the  most  exquisite  things 
in  the  volume. 

Perhaps  the  most  notable  poem  in  the  book  is 
“ Excelsior.”  One  evening  in  the  autumn  of  1841, 
after  he  had  been  at  a party,  Mr.  Longfellow  caught 
sight  of  this  word  on  a torn  piece  of  newspaper. 
Thoughts  seized  upon  his  imagination,  and  the  desire 
to  write  a poem  became  strong.  Lying  near  was  a 
letter  from  his  friend  Charles  Sumner,  which  had 
been  received  that  day.  Without  losing  any  time, 
he  crowded  the  back  of  the  letter  with  stanzas. 
Subsequently  he  re-wrote  the  poem,  and  published  it 
in  the  perfected  form  which  we  read  to-day.  When 
Mr.  Sumner  again  visited  the  Craigie  House,  the 
letter  was  shown  to  him.  He  requested  its  return, 
to  which  the  poet  assented.  Mr.  Sumner  always 
preserved  the  document  among  his  treasures ; and, 
after  his  lamented  decease,  it  came  by  his  bequest 
into  the  possession  of  Harvard  College,  and  is  now 
kept  in  the  library. 

Longfellow’s  explanation  of  “ Excelsior  ” is  given 
in  the  following  letter,  addressed  many  years  ago  to 
Mr.  H.  T.  Tuckerman.  It  was  first  published  in 
“ The  London  Telegraph.” 

“ I have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving  your  note  in 


“BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


267 


regard  to  the  poem  ‘ Excelsior,’  and  very  willingly 
give  you  my  intention  in  writing  it.  This  was  no 
more  than  to  display,  in  a series  of  pictures,  the  life 
of  a man  of  genius,  resisting  all  temptations,  laying 
aside  all  fears,  heedless  of  all  warnings,  and  pressing 
right  on  to  accomplish  his  purpose.  Bis  motto  is 
‘Excelsior,’  — higher.  He  passes  through  the  Al- 
pine village,  through  the  rough,  cold  paths  of  the 
world,  where  the  peasants  cannot  understand  him, 
and  where  his  watchword  is  ‘ an  unknown  tongue.’ 
He  disregards  the  happiness  of  domestic  peace,  and 
sees  the  glaciers  — his  fate  — before  him.  He  disre- 
gards the  warnings  of  the  old  man’s  wisdom  and  the 
fascinations  of  woman’s  love.  He  answers  to  all, 
‘ Higher  yet.’  The  monks  of  St.  Bernard  are  the 
representatives  of  religious  forms  and  ceremonies; 
and  with  their  oft-repeated  prayer  mingles  the  sound 
of  his  voice,  telling  them  there  is  something  higher 
than  forms  or  ceremonies.  Filled  with  tliese  aspira- 
tions, he  perishes  without  having  reached  the  perfec- 
tion he  longed  for ; and  the  voice  heard  in  tlie  air  is 
the  promise  of  immortality  and  progress  ever  upward. 
You  will  perceive  that  ‘Excelsior,’  an  adjective  of 
the  comparative  degree,  is  used  adverbially,  — a use 
justified  by  the  best  Latin  writers.” 

The  poem  of  “ Excelsior  ” has  given  rise  to  numer- 
ous parodies,  some  of  them  being  very  amusing.  Re- 
garding one  of  these,  Gen.  James  Grant  Wilson  thus 
writes : — 

“ The  poet  having  told  me  tliat  he  had  seen  scores 
of  parodies  of  ‘Excelsior,’  but  liad  never  met  with 
one  that  my  father  had  written,  in  which  many  dia- 


268 


HP:N11Y  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


lects  are  introduced,  I sent  it  to  him ; and,  when  we 
met  again,  he  amused  all  present  by  repeating  thi-ee 
or  four  of  the  twenty-five  verses  describing  a single 
hodman’s  ascent  of  a lofty  ladder:  — 

“ ‘ Mon  ami,  I vill  parley  vous 

Von  leetle  vord  ; Tis  rnah  you  do ! 

Ver  goot,  sare  ; Chacun  a son  gout; 

Excelsior ! 

Brava  ! brava  ! bravissima  ! 

Encore ! excellentissima ! 

Primo  tenor ! dolcissima ! 

Excelsior  I 

By  coot  Saint  Tavit  an’  hur  leek  ! 

She’d  rather  fast  for  half  ta  week 
Tan  shuffle  on  tat  shoggy  stick  ! 

Excelsior  1 

Mein  Cot ! dot  man  vill  break  him  pones, 

And  knock  him  prain  upon  de  stones. 

Der  Teufel ! did  you  heert  vat  tones  ? 

Excelsior ! ’ ” 

Another  poem  in  this  volume  is  “ The  Village 
Blacksmith.”  It  opens  with  the  familiar  lines, — 

“ Under  a spreading  chestnut-tree 
The  village  smithy  stands  : 

The  smith,  a mighty  man  is  he. 

With  large  and  sinewy  hands ; 

And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands.” 

Many  years  ago  the  village  smithy  ” stood  on 
Brattle  Street,  in  Cambridge.  When  it  was  at  last 


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“BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


269 


removed,  a dwelling-house  was  erected  in  its  place, 
to  make  room  for  which  it  became  necessary  to  lop 
off  some  of  the  branches  of  the  “ spreading  chestnut- 
tree  ” standing  adjacent.  A few  years  after,  this  tree 
presented  such  an  unsightly  appearance  that  an  or- 
der was  issued  by  the  municipal  authorities  to  have 
it  cut  down.  “Early  in  the  morning,”  says  one  who 
witnessed  the  proceeding,  “ the  choppers  w^ere  at  it. 
Like  burning  sparks  from  the  anvil  the  chips  flew  in 
every  direction,  and  soon  a crash  was  heard  ; and  the 
cry  went  up,  ‘ The  old  chestnut  is  down ! ’ The 
word  ran  from  lip  to  lip ; and  a crowd  was  quickly 
collected,  all  rushing  out  from  house  and  shop  just 
as  they  were,  without  coat  or  hat,  and  bearing  off 
some  fragments  as  a souvenir.  They  looked  like 
ants  bearing  a burden  bigger  than  themselves.  But 
some  city  officer  interfered,  and  the  work  of  plun- 
der ceased.  From  this  destruction  sprung  the  arm- 
chair which  the  children  of  Cambridge  presented  to 
Longfellow.” 

In  the  year  1842,  long  before  this  destruction,  Mr. 
Longfellow  made  a pen-and-ink  sketch  of  the  smithy 
and  the  tree,  as  they  then  appeared.  As  the  scene 
has  now  totally  changed,  this  bit  of  the  poet’s  per- 
sonality is  so  fresh  and  dainty  that  I have  had  it 
reproduced  and  inserted  here. 

When  in  1845  the  poem  of  “ The  Village  Black- 
smith ” was  again  passing  through  the  press,^  Mr. 


1 In  the  magnificent  edition,  illustrated  by  Huntingtoti,  of  Long- 
fellow’s poems  published  in  1845  by  Carey  and  Hart  of  Philadel- 
phia. The  same  firm  first  brought  out  the  Poets  and  Poetry  of 
Europe. 


270 


HENEY  WADSWOKTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Longfellow  read  portions  of  it  to  a barber  in  Cam- 
bridge. The  latter  criticised  the  line,  — 

“ His  hair  is  crisp  and  black  and  long,”  — 

by  saying  that  crisp  black  hair  is  never  long.  The 
poet  was  struck  with  the  worth  of  the  assertion, 
and  at  once  instructed  his  publisher  to  substitute 
“strong”  for  the  word  “long.”  The  next  day  he 
changed  his  mind,  and  again  wrote  to  the  publisher, 
“ I wrote  to  you  yesterday  to  have  the  word  " long  ’ 
changed  to  ‘strong’  in  ‘The  Village  Blacksmith.’ 
The  word  ‘ strong  ’ occurs  in  the  preceding  line,  and 
the  repetition  would  be  unpleasant.  It  had,  there- 
fore, better  stand  as  it  is,  notwithstanding  the  hair- 
dresser’s criticism,  which,  after  all,  is  only  technical; 
for  hair  can  be  both  crisp  and  long.” 

Among  the  other  poems  in  the  volume  are  “ En- 
dymion,”  very  short,  but  as  perfectly  and  clearly  cut 
as  a gem  ; “Blind  Bartimeus,”  which  sounds  like  an 
old  chant,  and  in  which  the  simple  words  of  the  New 
Testament  are  applied  with  wonderful  beauty ; and 
“ To  the  River  Charles,”  a poem  which,  now  that  the 
poet  has  left  us,  seems  to  have  a new  significance  : — - 

“ Thou  hast  taught  me,  silent  river, 

Many  a lesson,  deep  and  long : 

Thou  hast  been  a generous  giver; 

I can  give  thee  but  a song. 

Oft  in  sadness  and  in  illness 

I have  watched  thy  current  glide. 

Till  the  beauty  of  its  stillness 
Overflov^8d  me  like  a tide. 


“BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


271 


95 


And  in  better  hours  and  brighter, 

When  I saw  thy  waters  gleam, 

I have  felt  my  heart  beat  lighter, 

And  leap  onward  with  thy  stream. 

Not  for  this  alone  I love  thee, 

Nor  because  thy  waves  of  blue 

From  celestial  seas  above  thee 
Take  their  own  celestial  hue. 

Where  yon  shadowy  woodlands  hide  thee, 

And  thy  waters  disappear, 

Friends  I love  have  dwelt  beside  thee. 

And  have  made  thy  margin  dear. 

More  than  this  : thy  name  reminds  me 
Of  three  friends,  all  true  and  tried ; 

And  that  name,  like  magic,  binds  me 
Closer,  closer  to  thy  side. 

Friends  my  soul  with  joy  remembers  ! 

IIow  like  quivering  flames  they  start, 

When  I fan  the  living  embers 
On  the  hearthstone  of  my  heart ! 

’Tis  for  this,  thou  silent  river. 

That  my  spirit  leans  to  thee  : 

Thou  hast  been  a genei-ons  giver; 

Take  this  idle  song  from  me.” 

The  poem  entitled  “ Maidenhood  ” has  many  ad- 
mirers. A minister  once  took  tliis  poem  as  a text. 
After  reading  it  throngli,  he  proceeded  to  draw 
several  lessons  from  the  verses.  But  the  most  note- 
worthy thing  in  the  sermon  was,  the  narration  of  the 
circumstance  wliich  gave  rise  to  it.  He  told  a story 
of  a poor  woman  living  in  a lonely  cabin  in  a sterile 


272 


IJENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


j)ortion  of  tlic  North-West,  to  whom  a friend  of  his 
had  sent  illustrated  papers.  From  these  the  woman 
had  cut  the  pictures,  and  papered  the  walls  of  her 
cabin  with  them  ; and  an  illustration  of  Longfellow’s 
“ Maidenhood,”  with  the  poem  underneath  it,  she 
had  placed  directly  over  her  work-table.  There,  ns 
she  stood  at  her  breadmaking:  or  ironing  day  after 
day,  she  gazed  at  the  picture,  and  read  the  poem  ; 
till,  by  long  brooding  on  it,  she  understood  it,  ab- 
sorbed it,  as  few  people  appropriate  the  things  they 
read.  When  the  friend  who  had  sent  the  papers 
visited  her  after  a time,  he,  himself  a man  of  letters, 
stood  amazed  and  humbled  while  she  talked  to  him 
artlessly  about  the  poem,  expounded  to  him  its 
interior  meaning,  and  expressed  the  thoughts  she 
had  drawn  from  it.  The  preacher  said  it  was  an 
instance  of  that  benign  compensation  by  which 
those  who  have  little  may  draw  the  more  from  that 
little,  so  that  one  cup  deeply  drained  may  yield  more 
of  life’s  elixir  than  many  that  are  sipped. 

The  longest  poem  in  the  volume,  and  the  last  to 
which  I shall  call  attention,  is  entitled  “ The  Chil- 
dren of  the  Lord’s  Supper.”  Longfellow  received 
the  original  of  this  beautiful  production  of  Bishop 
Tegner  from  his  friend  Mr.  Ward,  who  had  himself 
received  it  from  Baron  Nordin,  then  Swedish  minis- 
ter at  Washington.  Longfellow  completed  his  ver- 
sion within  a fortnight.  The  original  is  in  the 
hexameter  measure : so  also  is  the  translation. 

The  translation  is  said  to  be  very  exact,  and  in 
the  minute  points  of  versification  to  be  superior  to 
the  Swedish.  Mr.  Sumner  once  told  me,  that,  when 


“ BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


273 


Longfellow  first  read  him  the  completed  poem,  he 
advised  him  to  lay  it  aside,  as  unworthy  of  his  time 
spent  upon  it.  “ It  was  many  years  before  I could 
be  made  to  see  any  beauty  in  it,”  he  continued : “ I 
am  almost  ashamed  to  confess  it,  for  now  I am  a 
great  admirer  of  the  production.” 

The  publication  of  Mr.  Longfellow’s  second  vol- 
ume of  poems  was  hailed  everywhere  with  delight. 
All  the  literary  journals  in  the  country  gave  it 
a notice,  and  the  sale  of  the  book  was  extensive. 

^Among  the  critics,  one  alone,  Edgar  A.  Poe,  found 
fault  with  what  all  the  others  commended^  Inas- 
much as  Poe’s  spirited  strictures  have  become  mat- 
ters of  history,  it  is  necessary  here  to  allude  to  them. 

In  his  criticism  on  “ Ballads  and  other  Poems,” 
Edgar  A.  Poe  wrote  thus  of  Longfellow’s  translation 
of  Tegner’s  poem  : — 

“ In  attempting  (what  never  should  be  attempted) 
a literal  version  of  both  the  words  and  the  metre  of 
this  poem,  Professor  Longfellow  has  failed  to  do 
justice,  either  to  his  author  or  himself.  He  lias 
striven  to  do  what  no  man  ever  did  well,  and  what, 
from  the  nature  of  language  itself,  never  can  lie  well 
done.  Unless,  for  example,  we  shall  come  to  have 
an  influx  of  spondees  in  our  English  tongue,  it  Avill 
always  be  impossible  to  construct  an  English  hex- 
ameter. Our  spondees,  or,  we  should  say,  our  spon- 
daic words,  are  rare.  In  the  Swedish  they  are  nearly 
as  abundant  as  in  the  Latin  and  Greek.  We  have 
only  ‘ compound^  ‘ context^'  '•footfall^'  and  a few  other 
similar  ones.  This  is  the  difficulty  ; and  tliat  it  is  so 
will  become  evident  upon  reading  ‘ The  Children  of 


274 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


the  Lord’s  Sui)per,’  where  the  sole  readable  verses 
jire  those  in  which  we  meet  with  the  rare  spondaic 
dissyllables.  We  mean  to  say  readable  as  hexameters^ 
for  many  of  them  will  read  very  well  as  mere  English 
dactylics  with  certain  irregularities.” 

Poe  did  not  inform  his  readers  of  his  total  unac- 
quaintance with  the  Swedish  language,  and  the 
original  of  Tegn^r’s  beautiful  poem.  His  wild  re- 
marks on  the  subject  of  metre  very  justly  suggested 
to  Mr.  Lowell  those  famous  lines  in  the  “ Fable  for 
Critics : ” — 

“ Here  comes  Poe  with  his  Raven,  like  Barnaby  Rudge,  — 
Three-fifths  of  him  genius,  and  two-fifths  sheer  fudge; 

Who  talks  like  a book  of  iambs  and  pentameters. 

In  a way  to  make  all  men  of  common  sense  d — n meters ; 
Who  has  written  some  things  far  the  best  of  their  kind. 

But  somehow  the  heart  seems  squeezed  out  by  the  mind.” 

But  Poe  went  still  farther.  He  asserted  that  “ Mr. 
Longfellow’s  conception  of  the  aims  of  poesy  is 
erroneous,”  and  that,  in  the  volume  under  notice, 
“ there  are  not  more  than  one  or  two  ” poems  which 
fulfilled  Poe's  idea  of  poetry.  The  exceptions,  which 
he  thought  were  “poems  nearly  true,”  were  “The 
Village  Blacksmith,”  “ The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,” 
and  “ The  Skeleton  in  Armor.”  ^ 

1 “ I remember,”  says  Mr,  R.  W.  Griswold,  “ having  been  shown 
by  Mr.  Longfellow,  several  years  ago,  a series  of  papers,  which  con- 
stitute a demonstration  that  Mr.  Poe  was  indebted  to  him  for  the 
idea  of  The  Haunted  Palace,  one  of  the  most  admirable  of  his 
poems,  which  he  so  pertinaciously  asserted  had  been  used  by  Mr. 
Longfellow  in  the  production  of  his  Beleaguered  City.  Mr.  Long- 
fellow’s poem  was  written  two  or  three  years  before  the  first  publi- 
cation of  that  by  Poe,  and  it  was  during  a portion  of  this  time  in 


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“BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


275 


On  the  27th  April,  1842,  Mr.  Longfellow  again 
sailed  for  Europe  in  search  of  health.  He  visited 
France,  England,  and  Germany,  and  spent  the  sum- 
mer at  Boppard,  a watering-place  on  the  Rhine.  In 
October  he  arrived  in  New  York  ; and  his  friends  — 
Sumner,  Felton,  and  Howe — went  thither  to  greet 
him. 

Longfellow  amused  himself  on  the  return  voyage 
by  writing  some  lyrics  against  slavery.  In  Decem- 
ber these  were  published  in  a thin  volume  entitled 
“Poems  on  Slavery.”^  For  a long  time  the  oppo- 
nents of  the  great  guilt  of  bondage  had  been  lifting 
up  the  voice  of  remonstrance,  of  entreaty,  and  of 
rebuke ; circulating  tracts  and  periodicals,  and  en- 
listing the  pulpit  and  the  press  in  the  cause  of  the 
suffering  and  the  dumb.  Anti-slavery  societies  were 
numerous,  and  the  moral  sentiment  of  the  country 
was  actively  engaged  in  the  struggle.  Wendell 
Phillips  and  William  Lloyd  Garrison  had  already 
spoken.  Channing  had  allied  himself  with  the  cause, 
Emerson  had  followed  him,  Whittier  was  also  com- 
ing to  the  front,  and  Sumner  had  spoken  with  no 
uncertain  sound.  It  remained  now  for  the  poet, 
whose  words  had  already  found  a place  in  the  hearts 
of  the  people,  to  strike  his  first  blow. 

Since  1836  Mr.  Sumner  had  been  urging  Long- 

Poe’s  possession;  but  it  was  not  printed,  I believe,  until  a few  weeks 
after  the  appearance  of  The  Haunted  Palace.  ‘ It  would  be 
absurd,’  as  Poe  himself  said  many  times,  ‘ to  believe  the  similarity 
of  these  pieces  entirely  accidental.’  This  was  the  first  cause  of  all 
that  malignant  criticism  which  for  so  many  years  he  carried  on 
against  Mr.  Longfellow.”  — Memoir  of  Poe. 

1 Poems  on  Slavery.  By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.  Cam- 
bridge: published  by  John  Owen.  1842. 


276 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


fellow  to  write  some  stirring  anti-slavery  poems. 
The  latter  was  slow  in  responding;  but,  when  he 
did,  the  former  was  well  satisfied. 

The  volume  included  eight  poems,  of  which  the 
most  striking,  perhaps,  are  “The  Slave’s  Dream,” 
“ The  Quadroon  Girl,”  and  “ The  Slave  Singing  at 
Midnight.”  The  most  prophetic  piece  in  the  book 
is  “The  Warning,”  which  is  here  given  entire. 

“ Beware  ! The  Israelite  of  old,  who  tore 
The  lion  in  his  path,  — when,  poor  and  blind, 

He  saw  the  blessed  light  of  heaven  no  more. 

Shorn  of  his  noble  strength,  and  forced  to  grind 
In  prison,  and  at  last  led  forth  to  be 
A pander  to  Philistine  revelry,  — 

Upon  the  pillars  of  the  temple  laid 
His  desperate  hands,  and  in  its  overthrow 
Destroyed  himself,  and  with  him  those  who  made 
A cruel  mockery  of  his  sightless  woe ; 

The  poor,  blind  slave,  the  scoff  and  jest  of  all, 

Expired,  and  thousands  perished  in  the  fall! 

There  is  a poor,  blind  Samson  in  this  land. 

Shorn  of  his  strength,  and  bound  in  bonds  of  steel, 

Who  may,  in  some  grim  revel,  raise  his  hand. 

And  shake  the  pillars  of  this  commonweal, 

Till  the  vast  temple  of  our  liberties 
A shapeless  mass  of  wreck  and  rubbish  lies.” 

After  the  publication  of  the  book,  Sumner  wrote 
thus  to  his  friend  Dr.  Lieber : — 

“ I have  sent  you  Longfellow’s  poems.  I hope 
yon  will  like  them.  The  volume  which  you  read 
last  year  at  this  time  has  been  translated  into  Ger- 
man by  Freiligrath.  The  ‘Poems  on  Slavery’  are 


“BALLADS  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


277 


valuable  as  contributions  to  a great  cause.  There 
are  hearts  that  will  be  reached  by  their  melody  that 
have  remained  deaf  to  facts,  to  reasons,  and  to  the 
exhortations  of  moralists.  He  has  already  received 
some  gratifying  expressions  from  persons  who  have 
read  them,  and  been  touched  by  them.  Is  not  the 
pleasure  of  a successful  poet  keener  than  that  of  any 
other  person  who  uses  the  pen  ? His  words  fly  over 
the  lips  of  men,  and  the  poet  becomes  the  dear  com- 
panion of  the  beautiful  and  good  and  brave.  He  is 
not  taken  down  in  the  solitude  of  study,  but  is  cher- 
ished always  and  everywhere.  His  words  give  con- 
solation, or  inspire  the  mind  with  a new  relish  for 
beauty.  In  truth,  I envy  Longfellow  the  good  he 
has  done.  To  how  many  bleeding  hearts  he  has 
come  with  succor ! He  has  been  the  good  Samaritan 
to  many  who  have  never  looked  upon  him  except 
as  transfigured  in  the  written  page.  You  complain 
that  his  friends  will  spoil  him  by  praise.  You  little 
know,  then,  the  sternness  with  which  his  friends 
judge  his  Avorks  before-  they  are  published.” 

The  “ Poems  on  Slavery,”  notwithstanding  that 
they  express  intense  feeling,  are  not  to  be  compared 
with  similar  effusions  from  other  of  our  native  poets. 
At  the  time  when  they  were  written,  the  anti-slavery 
agitation  was,  so  to  speak,  in  the  moral  phase : the 
Republican  party  was  not  yet  formed,  and  the  final 
appeal  to  arms  was  not  to  be  sounded  until  twenty 
3^ears  later.  Still,  Mr.  Longfellow  dwelt  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  agitation  ; and  its  leaders  were  among 
his  own  personal  friends.  But  he  was  a man  of 
peace,  and  he  cherished  an  abhorrence  of  violence  in 


278 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


word  or  deed.  Though  he  may  never  have  lacked 
the  moral  sympathy  with  America,  yet  that  sympa- 
thy never  became  with  him  a flaming  Are,  as  with 
Mr.  Whittier,  whose  poems  on  the  slavery  question 
are  certainly  the  flnest  ever  written  ; or  a rapier  edge, 
as  with  Mr.  Lowell.  In  their  day  they  played  their 
part  by  helping  to  form  the  public  sentiment.  It  is 
to  be  regretted  that  so  grand  a beginning  was  not 
followed  up  to  the  last,  and  that  the  eloquence  of 
his  friend  Sumner  was  not  accompanied  b}^  the  poet’s 
muse  down  through  the  years  until  the  one  great 
object  was  accomplished.  The  scarcity  of  Longfel- 
low’s anti-slavery  and  patriotic  poems,  at  a time 
Avhen  they  were  sorely  needed,  only  proves  the  lack 
of  absolute  Americanism  in  the  humanitarian  aspect 
of  his  verse. 


Longfellow’s  second  marriage. 


279 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  PERIOD  OP  LONGFELLOW’S  SECOND  MAR- 
RIAGE. 

(1843-1846.) 

Longfellow  stni  lived  in  the  south-east 
chamber  at  the  Craigie  House,  surrounded  by 
his  books  and  often  visited  by  his  friends.  In  the 
pages  of  “ Hyperion  ” we  catch  a pleasant  glimpse  of 
his  abode,  and  of  some  of  the  impressions  which  it 
forced  upon  his  mind.  He  says,  — 

“ I sit  here  at  my  pleasant  chamber-window,  and 
enjoy  the  balmy  air  of  a bright  summer  morning, 
and  watch  the  motions  of  the  golden-robin  that  sits 
on  its  swinging  nest  on  the  outermost  pendulous 
branch  of  yonder  elm.  The  broad  meadows  and  the 
steel-blue  river  remind  me  of  the  meadows  of  Unter- 
seen  and  the  river  Aar,  and  beyond  them  rise  mag- 
nificent snow-white  clouds  piled  up  like  Alps.  Tims 
the  shades  of  Washington  and  William  Tell  seem  to 
walk  together  on  these  Elysian  Fields ; for  it  was 
here,  that,  in  days  long  gone,  our  great  patriot  dwelt ; 
and  yonder  clouds  so  much  resemble  the  snowy  Alps 
that  they  remind  me  irresistibly  of  the  Swiss  noble 
examples  of  a high  purpose  and  a fixed  will. 

“ Nothing  can  be  more  lovely  than  these  summer 
mornings,  nor  than  the  southern  window  at  which  I 

279 


280 


HKNllY"  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


sit  and  write,  in  this  old  mansion  which  is  like  an 
Italian  villa;  bnt  oh,  this  lassitude,  this  weariness, 
when  all  around  me  is  so  bright!  I liave  this  morn- 
ing a singular  longing  for  flowers,  — a wish  to  stroll 
among  the  roses  and  carnations,  and  inhale  their 
breath,  as  if  it  would  revive  me.  I wish  I knew  the 


Longfellow's  Chamber  at  Craigie  House. 


man  who  called  flowers  ‘ the  fugitive  poetry  of  Na- 
ture.’ From  this  distance,  from  these  scholastic 
shades,  from  this  leafy,  blossoming,  and  beautiful 
Cambridge,  I stretch  forth  my  hand  to  grasp  his,  as 
the  hand  of  a poet.  Yes:  this  morning  I would 
rather  stroll  with  him  among  the  gay  flowers  than 
sit  here  and  write.” 


Longfellow’s  second  makriage. 


281 


At  this  period  of  his  life  the  poet  was  somewhat 
closely  confined  to  his  professional  duties;  and  he 
rarely  went  out  of  town,  except  during  the  season  of 
holidays  and  vacations.  Since  his  arrival  in  Cam- 
bridge he  had  invariably  visited  his  old  home  and 
friends  in  Portland  at  least  once  a year,  usually  dur- 
ing the  summer ; and  now  and  then  he  would  stroll 
over  to  New  York,  where  lie  was  always  welcomed 
at  the  home  of  Mr.  Ward,  the  father  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Ward,  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  in  Europe. 
Here,  in  1837,  he  first  met  Miss  Julia  Ward  (who  in 
1843  became  the  wife  of  Dr.  Samuel  G.  Howe),  whose 
recollections  dating  back  to  this  period  are  interest- 
ing. “ He  was  then  known,”  writes  this  lady,  “ as 
the  author  of  ‘Outre-Mer,’  and  had  also,  I think, 
published  a volume  of  fugitive  pieces  and  transla- 
tions. My  brother  had  made  liis  acquaintance  in 
Germany,  and  had  led  me  to  anticipate  great  pleas- 
ure in  seeing  him.  Mr.  Longfellow  was  at  that 
time,  and  long  continued  to  be,  remarkably  youthful 
in  his  appearance.  I remember  well  his  clear,  fresh 
complexion,  and  the  bright  chestnut  of  his  hair.  I 
was  already  deeply  interested  in  the  study  of  Ger- 
man literature  ; and  our  talk,  as  I remember  it,  was 
of  favorite  books  and  authors.” 

Although  his  income  as  a Harvard  professor  was  ex- 
ceedingly slender,  Mr.  Longfellow,  in  his  visits  to  New 
York,  encountered  many  temptations  to  expenditure 
in  the  shape  of  valuable  books  and  engravings  ; and  to 
these  temptations  he  very  often  succumbed,  always 
declaring,  however,  like  the  vascillating  Rip  Van 
Winkle  in  the  play,  that  it  was  “ for  the  last  time.’* 


282 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


During  these  years  also  the  old  friendships  grew 
stronger,  and  many  new  ones  were  formed.  Sum- 
ner came  regularly  to  spend  Saturday  night  at  the 
Craigie  House,  and  Professor  Felton  rarely  failed  to 
be  on  hand  in  time  for  dinner.  With  these  two  gen- 
ial souls  Longfellow  spent  his  happiest  moments,  “ as 
watchful  for  their  coming  as  the  sweetheart  for  that 
of  her  lover.”  The  “ Five  of  Clubs  ” still  thrived, 
and  held  its  meetings  ; but  there  was  a sudden  break 
in  its  membership.  Cleveland,  whose  health  had 
been  gradually  failing,  died  in  June,  1843;  and  his 
place  at  the  board  was  now  occupied  by  Samuel  G. 
Howe.  Longfellow’s  visits  at  Professor  Norton’s 
were  still  kept  up ; and  occasionally  he  would  ride 
into  Boston  to  dine  on  a Sunday  with  Mr.  Prescott,  — 
at  his  father’s  home  in  Bedford  Street,  — who  had 
just  brought  out  his  first  historical  work,  the  “ Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella.” 

But  perhaps  the  greatest  attraction  for  Longfellow 
was  the  Mary  Ashburton  of  his  delightful  romance, 
— the  lady  whom  he  had  first  met  in  Switzerland. 
No  passion  can  be  more  ardent  than  that  of  a man  of 
thirty-five,  and  no  hero  could  possibly  be  more  gal- 
lant than  Paul  Flemming.  Of  the  story  of  the  new 
love,  only  the  faintest  outline  need  be  recited. 
Early  in  the  present  century  Mr.  Nathan  Appleton, 
a prominent  Boston  merchant,  married  Miss  Maria 
Theresa,  daughter  of  Thomas  Gold,  Esq.,  a Pitts- 
field lawyer,  who  owned  and  occupied  the  fine  man- 
sion in  Pittsfield,  Mass.,  now  the  residence  of  Mrs. 
Thomas  F.  Plunkett.  Mrs.  Appleton  was  a lady  of 
rare  excellence,  and  impressed  many  of  her  graces 


LONGFELLOW’S  SECOND  MARRIAGE. 


283 


of  mind  and  person  upon  her  daughter,  Miss  Frances 
Elizabeth  Appleton.  In  1836,  as  the  reader  has 
already  seen,  the  Appletons  travelled  on  the  conti- 
nent of  Europe,  where  they  became  acquainted  with 
Professor  Longfellow. 

Longfellow  returned  home  first;  and,  in  the  ro- 
mance of  “ Hyperion,”  he  told  the  story  of  his  love, 
he  being  his  own  hero.  After  the  publication  of  tlie 
book,  friends  on  both  sides  readily  recognized  both 
the  hero  and  the  heroine,  and  quietly  conjectured 
the  sequel.  It  was  whispered  at  the  time  that  the 
young  lady  was  not  a little  offended  by  the  affair. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  she  Avas  not  inflexible,  nor  did  she 
refuse  to  entertain  the  new  proposal  for  her  hand 
and  heart.  It  was  while  IMiss  Appleton  Avas  spend- 
ing the  summer  at  Pittsfield  that  both  Avere  Avon ; 
and  on  July  13,  1843,  she  became  the  Avife  of  Pro- 
fessor LongfelloAv.  The  happy  pair  loitered  among 
their  friends  in  Berkshire  until  toAvards  the  last  of 
August,  and  then  returned  to  Cambridge. 

Mr.  Sumner  at  the  Avedding  officiated  as  “ best 
man.”  On  the  13th  August  he  Avrote  to  Greene, 
“ You  will  find  dear  LongfelloAV  married  to  the 
beautiful  and  most  lovely  Mary  Ashburton  ; ” and 
to  Professor  Mittermaier  of  Heidelberg  he  Avrote, 
“ You  have  heard  of  the  happiness  of  LongfelloAV, 
who  is  married  to  a most  beautiful  lady,  possessing 
every  attraction  of  character  and  intelligence.” 

In  the  folloAving  year  i\Ir.  Nathan  Appleton,  hav- 
ing  purchased  the  Craigie  estate,  presented  it  to  hir. 
daughter  to  be  the  future  home  of  herself  and  her 
poet-husband. 


284 


HENUY  WADSWORTH  LONGFliiLLOW. 


It  was  during  these  years  that  Transcendentalism 
was  running  rampant  in  New  England.  The  ten- 
dencies of  thought  which  Emerson  had  affected  had 
taken  a decided  form,  and  had  come  to  full  expres- 
sion in  the  year  1836,  by  the  publication  of  Emer- 
son’s “Nature,”  W.  H.  Furness’s  little  book  on  “The 
Gospels,”  Alcott’s  first  volume  of  “ Conversations  on 
the  Gospels,”  etc.,  — all  works  based  on  the  new 
spiritual  philosophy,  and  full  of  criticism  of  the  old 
religious  thought  and  life.  Channing,  however,  was 
the  real  leader  of  the  movement,  as  he  had  been 
twenty  years  earlier  of  the  Unitarian  advance ; and 
his  chief  counsellor  was  George  Ripley,  then  a promi- 
nent clergyman  in  Boston.  The  first  meeting  of 
the  Transcendental  Club  was  in  Boston,  at  the  house 
of  Mr.  Ripley,  on  Sept.  19,  1836;  and  the  persons 
present  were  Messrs.  Ripley,  Emerson,  F.  H.  Hedge, 
Con  vers  Francis,  J.  F.  Clarke,  and  A.  Bronson 
Alcott. 

In  July,  1840,  appeared  the  first  number  of  “ The 
Dial,”  under  the  editorship  of  Margaret  Fuller,  which, 
as  the  organ  of  the  club,  enjoyed  “an  obscurity  of 
four  years.”  In  1841  the  Brook-Farm  community 
was  established. 

Of  the  Transcendental  movement  it  may  be  said 
that  Longfellow  lived  in  the  very  midst  of  it,  but 
was  never  a participant.  All  of  its  leaders  were  his 
cherished  friends.  Notwithstanding  that  he,  too,  was 
a scholar,  and  a devoted  student  of  German  litera- 
ture, and  that  his  first  important  works  had  stimu- 
lated the  taste  for  German  studies  and  the  enjoyment 
of  its  literature  more  than  any  other  impulse  in  this 


Longfellow’s  second  marriage. 


285 


country,  still  he  remained  outside  of  the  eharmed 
circle,  serene  and  friendly  and  attentive.  The  careers 
of  other  men  were  moulded  by  the  intelleetual  re- 
vival of  that  time,  but  Longfellow’s  was  not.  “ If,” 
says  Mr.  Curtis,  “ Longfellow  had  been  the  ductile, 
echoing,  imitative  nature  that  the  more  ardent  dis- 
ciples of  the  faith  supposed  him  to  be,  he  would 
have  been  absorbed  and  swept  away  by  the  flood. 
But  he  was  as  untouched  by  it  as  Charles  Lamb  by 
the  wars  of  Napoleon.”  And  this  was  very  much  to 
his  own  credit. 

The  indifference  of  the  poet  to  the  Transcendental 
movement  was  not  wholly  gratifying  to  many  of  his 
friends ; and,  in  certain  circles,  it  drew  down  upon 
himself  some  severe  denunciations.  Margaret  Fuller 
was  especially  bitter,  and  in  “ The  New- York  Trib- 
une ” she  published  sharp  criticisms  of  both  Long- 
fellow and  Lowell.  The  poems  of  the  former  she 
pronounced  to  be  “ exotic ; ” those  of  the  latter, 
“crude  and  imitative.”  Lowell  retorted  with  bril- 
liant sarcasm,  Longfellow  witli  good-natured  silence. 
Public  sympathy  went  with  them.  Viewing  the 
subject  at  this  distance  of  time  and  scene,  one  cannot 
help  thinking  that  Margaret  Fuller  was  more  right 
than  wrong  in  her  criticism,  and  that  both  poets 
profited  by  what  she  had  ventured  to  say.  It  must 
be  remembered,  in  justice  to  her,  that,  later,  she  was 
one  of  the  first  to  recognize  the  pure  and  elevating 
tone  of  Longfellow’s  verse,  ^nd  to  defend  him  against 
tlie  onslaught  of  Poe  and  others^ 

When  Longfellow  came  home  from  Europe  in 
1842,  he  found  the  whole  country  echoing  the 


280 


IIKNUY  WADSWOllTH  LONGFELLOW. 


praibc's  of  Fanny  Elssler  the  danseuse.  Her  marvel- 
lous terpsicliorean  feats  carried  him  back  in  thought 
to  the  land  of  CastileJ  and  it  occurred  to  him  then 
and  there  to  write  a drama.  The  intention  was  exe- 
cuted, and  resulted  in  “ Tlie  Spanish  Student.”  ^ In 
this  poetic  drama  appeared  the  song  entitled  “ Sere- 
nade,” which  has  since  become  exceedingly  popular, 

beginning,  — 

“ Stars  of  the  summer  night ! 

Far  in  yon  azure  deeps, 

Hide,  hide  your  golden  light  I 
She  sleeps ! 

My  lady  sleeps ! 

Sleeps ! ” 

The  work  at  the  time  was  much  sought,  and  with- 
in fifteen  years  nearly  forty  thousand  copies  were 
sold.  The  theme  was  taken  from  “ La  Gitanella  of 
Cervantes,”  and  elaborated  to  the  full  extent  of  the 
author’s  genius. 

The  plot  of  “ The  Spanish  Student  ” is  as  follows  : 
Preciosa,  the  daughter  of  a Spanish  grandee,  is,  dur- 
ing her  infancy,  carried  off  by  gypsies.  One  of  these, 
named  Cruzado,  adopts  her  as  his  own  daughter, 
brings  her  up  as  a dancing-girl,  and  in  due  time  be- 
troths  her  to  Bartolome,  also  a gypsy.  Living  at 
Madrid  is  one,  Victorian  by  name,  a student  of  Al- 
cala, who  meets  and  falls  in  love  with  Preciosa.  Not- 
withstanding her  caste  and  questionable  character, 
Victorian  resolves  to  marry  her.  He  has  already 
been  betrothed  to  an  heiress  in  Madrid.  Preciosa 

1 The  Spanisli  Student.  A play  in  three  acts,  hy  Henry 
Wadsworth  Longfellow,  Cambridge.  Published  by  John  Owen, 
ISLL  [12ino,  pp.  183.] 


LONGFELLOW’S  SECOND  MARRIAGE. 


287 


is  also  sought  by  the  Count  of  Lara,  a roue  ; but  she 
rejects  him.  On  a certain  night  he  forces  his  way 
into  her  chamber,  and  is  there  seen  by  Victorian, 
who,  suspecting  the  fidelity  of  his  mistress,  chal- 
lenges the  count  to  a duel.  The  duel  takes  place, 
and  the  count’s  life  is  spared  by  Victorian.  The 
count  protests  his  innocence,  but  boasts  of  favors 
received  from  Preciosa,  and  shows  a ring  which  she 
gave  him,  he  says,  as  a pledge  of  her  love.  The 
ring  is  a duplicate  of  one  previously  given  to  Pre- 
ciosa by  Victorian.  Victorian  mistakes  it  for  his 
own,  credits  the  statements  of  the  count,  and  aban- 
dons the  field  to  his  rival.  Not  long  afterwards, 
while  attempting  to  see  Preciosa,  the  count  is  assas- 
sinated by  Bartolom^. 

Meanwhile,  in  his  wanderings,  Victorian  goes  to 
Guadarrama,  where  he  receives  a letter  from  Madrid 
disclosing  to  him  the  treachery  practised  by  the 
count,  and  telling  that  Preciosa  is  again  roaming 
with  the  gypsies.  He  goes  in  search  of  her,  finds 
her ; and  they  hold  a conversation,  during  which  he 
spies  his  ring  upon  her  finger.  He  offers  to  purchase 
it:  she  refuses  to  part  with  it,  and  a scene  takes 
place  which  clears  up  a mystery.  A messenger  lias 
arrived  from  court,  who  gives  the  first  intimation  of 
the  true  parentage  of  Preciosa.  The  lovers  depart 
for  Madrid  to  see  the  father.  On  the  way  Bartolomc 
appears,  fires  at  Preciosa,  is  slain  by  Victorian,  and 
the  denoument  is  happily  ended. 

The  appearance  of  “The  Spanish  Student”  fur- 
nished fresh  fuel  for  Poe’s  fiaming  fire.  He  began, 
however,  very  mildly  by  saying,  “ The  reputation  of 


288 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


its  author  as  a poet  and  as  a graceful  writer  of  prose 
is,  of  coLij'se,  long  and  deservedly  establislied  ; but,  as 
a dramatist,  he  was  unknown  before  the  publication 
of  this  play.  Upon  its  original  appearance,  in  ‘ Gra- 
ham’s Magazine,’  the  general  opinion  was  greatly  in 
favor,  — if  not  exactly  of  ‘ The  Spanish  Student,’  — 
at  all  events,  of  the  writer  of  ‘ Outre-Mer  ’ ; but  this 
general  opinion  is  the  most  equivocal  thing  in  the 
world.”  The  writer  then  proceeded  to  reprint  “ some 
of  the  finer  passages,”  declared  them  to  be  “grace- 
ful, well-expressed,  imaginative,  and  altogether  re- 
plete with  the  true  poetic  feeling,”  and,  at  last,  went 
on  to  criticise  the  remainder. 

Poe  objected  to  the  preface,  and  accused  Longfel- 
low of  a lack  of  originality.  He  regretted  that  “ The 
Spanish  Student  ” was  not  subtitled  “ A Dramatic 
Poem,”  rather  than  “ A Play ; ” and  asserted,  tliat, 
“Whatever  may  be  its  merits  in  a poetical  view, 
‘The  Spanish  Student’  could  not  be  endured  upoii 
the  stage.” 

He  next  finds  fault  with  the  plot,  and  thinks  that 
it  “ looks  better  in  our  naked  digest  than  amidst 
the  details  which  develop  only  to  disfigure  it;  ” and 
that,  in  the  conception  and  introduction  of  the  inci- 
dents, an  utter  want  of  skill,  of  art,  is  manifested. 
He  then,  at  considerable  length,  endeavors  to  estab- 
lish his  conclusions  on  some  foundation  of  reason. 
He  ends  by  saying,  — 

“ Upon  the  whole,  we  regret  that  Professor  Long- 
fellow has  written  this  work,  and  feel  especially 
vexed  that  he  has  committed  himself  by  its  republi- 
cation. Only  when  regarded  as  a mere  poem  can 


LONGFELLOW  S SECOND  iAIAUllIAGE. 


289 


it  be  said  to  have  merit  of  any  kind;  for,  in  fact,  it 
is  only  when  we  separate  the  poem  from  the  drama, 
that  the  passages  we  liave  commended  as  beautiful 
can  be  understood  to  have  beauty.  AVe  are  not  too 
sure,  indeed,  that  a ‘ dramatic  poem  ’ is  not  a flat  con- 
tradiction in  terms.  At  all  events,  a man  of  true 
genius  (and  such  Mr.  Longfellow  unquestionably  is) 
has  no  business  with  these  hybrid  and  paradoxicjil 
compositions.  Let  a poem  be  a poem  only;  let  a 
play  be  a pla}’,  and  nothing  more.  ^^s  for  ‘ The 
Spanish  Student,’  its  thesis  is  unoriginal ; its  inci- 
dents are  antique  ; its  plot  is  no  plot ; its  characters 
have  no  character ; in  short,  it  is  little  better  than  a 
play  upon  words  to  style  it  ‘ a play  ’ at  all.J)/ 

In  the  number  of  “The  North  American  Review” 
for  July,  1844,  among  the  critical  notices  appeared  a 
short  but  appreciative  criticism  of  the  literary  re- 
mains of  the  late  Willis  Gaylord  Clark,  formerly  one 
of  the  editors  of  “The  Knickerbocker.”  “All  Mr. 
Clark’s  friends  — and  few  men  have  had  more  or 
warmer  ones  — will  welcome  this  volume  as  a mirror 
of  his  mind,  of  his  quaintness,  his  humor,  his  pathos, 
his  easy,  careless  manner,  his  disregard  of  conven- 
tionalities, and,  above  all,  of  his  gentle,  humane,  and 
generous  heart.”  AVith  this  tribute,  Longfellow’s 
contributions  to  the  pages  of  “The  North  American 
Review  ” came  to  an  end. 

At  the  time  when  Mr.  Longfellow  was  simultane- 
ously performing  the  duties  of  a Harvard  professor 
and  earning  a reputation  as  a poet,  but  comparatively 
few  persons  in  this  country  were  accpiainted  with  the 
languages  of  continental  Europe,  and  a still  smaller 


290 


HENUY  WADSWORTH  I.ONGFELLOW. 


iiuiiiber,  porliJips,  were  fainiliar  with  the  poetry  of 
Euro])e.  It  was  a happy  tliought  whieh  led  liim  to 
prej)are  a work  witliiii  a moderate  cgmpass,  whicli 
sliould  give  to  the  student  of  poesy  a connected  view 
of  tlie  poetical  literature  existing  in  ten  languages, 
six  of  tliese,  the  Anglo-Saxon,  Icelandic,  Danish, 
Swedisli,  German,  and  Dutch,  belonging  to  the  great 
Gotliic  family  of  the  North,  and  the  remaining  four, 
tiie  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  and  Portuguese,  being 
daughters  of  the  Latin.  The  title  given  to  the  work 
Avas  the  “ Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe.”  ^ 

The  plan  of  the  work  was  original ; and,  as  “ the 
editor’s  intention  was  to  give  as  perfect  an  idea  of 
the  poetical  literature  of  modern  Europe  as  could  be 
gained  from  the  rhythmical  translations  that  have 
been  made  at  divers  times  by  English  poets  and  lin- 
guists,” Mr.  Longfellow  drew  heavily  from  the  publi- 
cations of  Bowring,  Herbert,  Costello,  Taylor,  Jamie- 
son, Brooks,  Adamson,  Thorpe,  and  others. 

The  arrangement  of  the  various  excerpts  is  the 
distinctive  feature  of  the  volume,  which  is  to  be 
regarded  more  a collection  than  a selection.  The 
translations  from  each  language  are  brought  together 
chronologically  ; and  prefacing  each  separate  body  of 
specimens  is  an  introductory  sketch  intended  to  give 
“ the  peculiarities  of  the  languages  and  of  the  several 
epochs  into  which  tlie  literary  history  of  the  country 
is  divided.”  Although  short,  these  sketches  are  com- 
prehensive. Then  follow  tlie  translations  by  various 

1 The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,  with  Introductions  and 
Biographical  Notices.  By  Henry  W.  Longfellow.  Philadelphia: 
Cary  and  Hart,  1845.  [8vo,  pp.  779.] 


LONGFELLOW'S  SECOND  MAKIUAGE.  291 


hands,  the  extracts  from  each  author  being  preceded 
by  a biographical  and  critical  notice,  written  by  Pro- 
fessor Felton,  “ to  whose  taste  and  learning  the  merit 
of  a large  portion  of  what  is  most  original  and  agree- 
able in  this  volume  is  entirely  to  be  ascribed.” 
Viewed  critically,  most*  of  the  translations  are  very 
literal,  while  others  are  loose  and  paraphrastic  : many 
have  been  worked  over  into  smooth  and  sounding 
English  verse ; while  others  are  mere  rough  copies, 
that  preserve  the  sentiment  and  imagery,  but  sacri- 
fice entirely  the  metrical  characteristics,  of  the  origi- 
nals. The  former  resemble  foreign  coins  that  have 
been  melted  down,  and  stamped  anew  in  the  English 
mint : the  latter  have  merely  had  the  foreign  marks 
effaced,  and  are  here  presented  only  as  bullion,  or 
rude  material,  which  may  afterwards  receive  a new 
form  and  impression,  and  circulate  again  as  cur- 
rency. 

And  now  for  a hasty  view  of  the  contents  of  the 
volume,  in  the  order  in  which  they  are  presented. 
First  come  the  translated  specimens  of  Anglo-Saxon 
poetiy,  consisting  of  excerpts  from  “ Beowulf,”  Cied- 
mon’s  paraphrase  of  portions  of  Holy  Writ,  King 
Alfred’s  versions  of  the  metres  of  Boethius,  and  a 
few  historic  odes  and  miscellaneous  pieces.  Tlien 
follow  specimens  from  Icelandic  poetry.  Next  Dan- 
ish poetry,  including  Longfellow’s  spirited  version 
of  Evald’s  “ King  Christian,”  wliich  has  become  the 
national  song  of  Denmark.  Attention  is  then  paid 
to  the  poets  of  Sweden.  German  poetry,  as  miglit 
be  expected,  occupies  a very  large  part  of  the  volume. 
But  few  extracts  are  given  from  the  poetry  of  Hoi- 


292 


HENKY  WADS  WORT  li  LONGFELLOW. 


hind.  French  poetry  is  amply  illustrated ; and  so, 
also,  the  poetry  of  Italy,  Spain,  and  Portugal. 

Such  is  a very  faint  description  of  the  varied  and 
interesting  contents  of  Mr.  Longfellow’s  volume.  In 
the  words  of  one  of  the  early  reviewers,  “ the  book 
abounds  with  material  for  the  gratification  of  a cul- 
tivated taste,  and  for  the  instruction  of  every  mind 
of  a generous  and  inquiring  nature.  But  it  does  not 
admit  of  abridgment,  and  the  nearest  approach  to  a 
summary  account  of  it  would  be  to  copy  its  table  of 
contents.” 

Mr.  Longfellow  himself  contributed  many  of  his 
own  beautiful  translations  to  the  volume  ; and  in  the 
great  crowd  of  translations  by  different  persons,  cer- 
tainly a very  few,  in  point  of  elegance,  finish,  and 
fidelity,  appear  equal  to  those  of  our  poet.  But  the 
work,  as  a whole,  is  an  honorable  memorial  of  his 
great  attainments  as  a linguist,  rather  than  as  a 
poet. 

In  the  year  1845  the  first  collected  edition  of  Mr. 
Longfellow’s  poems  was  published  in  a superb  vol- 
ume by  Messrs.  Carey  and  Hart  of  Philadelphia.  The 
volume  was  an  octavo,  and  comprised  four  hundred 
and  fifteen  pages,  with  eleven  illustrations,  including 
a portrait  on  steel,  designed  by  Huntington  and  en- 
graved by  various  American  artists.  It  included 
several  pieces  since  dropped  by  the  author  from 
later  collected  editions.  In  its  day  the  volume  was 
looked  upon  as  a fine  specimen  of  book-making,  and 
it  is  still  remembered  with  what  care  the  first  copies 
were  cherished  by  Boston  booksellers. 

In  1845  was  published  “The  Waif:  a Collection 


Longfellow’s  second  marriage. 


293 


of  Poems.”  ^ Mr.  Longfellow  was  the  editor  of  the 
collection,  though  his  name  was  not  placed  upon  the 
title-page.  However,  he  furnished  an  introductory 
poem  — “Proem”  — for  the  volume,  which  bore  his 
signature,  and  was  dated  “ Cambridge,  December, 
1844.”  The  poem  is  known  as  “The  Day  is  Done,” 
and  opens,  — 

“ The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  tlie  wings  of  Night, 

As  a feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 


And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 

And  the  cares,  that  infest  the  day, 

Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 

And  as  silently  steal  away.” 

Mr.  Owen  suggested  the  preparation  of  the  vol- 
ume to  the  poet,  and  insisted  that  the  “many  stray 
pieces  afloat  ” should  be  selected  in  preference  to  the 
productions  of  well-known  English  poets.  In  the 
book  fifty-one  poems,  mostly  lyrical,  are  inserted : 
and  of  these  seventeen  are  anonymous;  and  the 
remainder  are  by  Thomas  Churchyard,  G.  P.  11. 
James,  Horace  Smith,  Thomas  Pringle,  Robert 
Browning,  P.  B.  Shelley,  Mrs.  Blackwood,  Thomas 
Hood,  Richard  Lovelace,  Robert  Herrick,  and  others. 
One  piece,  entitled  “ Each  in  All,”  is  by  Emerson ; 
and  there  is  a “Song  for  August”  by  Harriet 
Martineau.  American  authorship  is  but  poorly  rep- 
resented. The  following  stanza  from  “ The  Faerie 

1 The  Waif  : a Collection  of  Poems.  Cambridge.  Published  by 
John  Owen,  1845.  [18mo.,  pp.  144.] 


294 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Queene,”  wliicli  appears  upon  the  title-page  of  the 
book,  may  explain  the  reason : — 

“ A waif,  the  which  by  fortune  came 
Upon  your  seas,  he  claimed  as  property : 

And  yet  not  his,  nor  his  in  equity. 

But  yours  the  waif  by  high  prerogative.” 

Not  long  after  the  publication  of  “ The  Waif,” 
Poe  wrote  a criticism  on  the  book,  and  published  it 
in  “The  New-York  Evening  Mirror”  of  Jan.  14, 
1846.  He  ended  by  saying,  — 

“We  conclude  our  notes  on  ‘The  Waif’  with  the 
observation,  that,  although  full  of  beauties,  it  is 
infected  with  a moral  taint^  — or  is  this  a mere  freak 
of  our  own  fancy?  We  shall  be  pleased  if  it  be  so, 
— but  there  doe%  appear  in  this  little  volume  a very 
careful  avoidance  of  all  American  poets  who  may  be 
supposed  especially  to  interfere  with  the  claims  of 
Mr.  Longfellow.  These  men  Mr.  Longfellow  can 
continuously  (^s  that  the  word?),  and  yet 

never  incidentally  commend.” 

In  the  following  year  Longfellow  brought  out  a 
new  volume  of  his  poems,  including  not  only  those 
which  he  had  contributed  to  “ Graham’s  Magazine,” 
“The  New  World,”  and  other  periodicals  of  that 
time,  but  a few  new  ones  hitherto  unpublished.  The 
volume  bore  the  title  of  “ The  Belfry  of  Bruges,  and 
other  Poems.”  ^ One  of  the  most  notable  poems  in 
the  book  was  entitled  “ The  Arsenal  at  Springfield,” 
which,  as  Mr.  Longfellow  once  told  me,  was  siig- 

1 The  Belfry  of  Bruges,  and  other  Poems,  by  Henry  Wadsworth 
Longfellow.  Cambridge.  Published  by  John  Owen,  1846. 


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LONGFELLOW’S  SECOND  MARRIAGE.  295 

gested  by  reading  Mr.  Sumner’s  eloquent  address  on 
“ The  True  Grandeur  of  Nations.”  The  jioem  was 
originally  printed  in  “ Graham’s  Magazine  ” for 
May,  1845.  In  the  same  volume  appeared  “ Sea- 
weed ” (first  printed  in  “ Graham’s  Magazine  ” for 
May,  1845),  and  which  the  poet  wrote  at  Nahant  on 
a quiet  summer  morning.  “ The  Day  is  Done  ” first 
appeared  in  “ The  Waif,”  under  the  title  of  “ Proem.” 
The  famous  “ Drinking  Song  ” flashed  into  the  poet’s 
mind  one  evening  while  he  and  Felton  were  loun- 
ging before  a wood-fire  in  the  study,  quaffing  “poet’s 
wine.”  Another  well-known  poem,  “ The  Arrow 
and  the  Song,”  was  suggested  to  Mr.  Longfellow 
while  strolling  through  Norton’s  Woods  (so  called 
now)  in  Cambridge.  The  stanzas  were  pencilled  as 
he  emerged  from  the  grove,  and  was  slowly  wend- 
ing ]iis  Avay  home. 

But  the  poem  which  above  all  others  in  the  book 
has  attained  a popularity  is  that  entitled  “ The  Old 
Clock  on  the  Stairs.” 

“ Somewhat  back  from  the  village  street 
Stands  the  old-fashioned  country-seat. 

Across  its  antique  portico 

Tall  poplar-trees  their  shadows  throw ; 

And  from  its  station  in  the  hall 
An  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all,  — 

‘ Forever  — never  ! 

Never  — forever ! ’ ” 


The  “ ancient  timepiece  ” that  suggested  the 
writing  of  this  beautiful  poem  stood  at  the  time  in 
tlie  family  mansion  of  the  Appletons  at  Pittsfield, 


296 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Mass.  When,  in  1853,  Mr.  Thomas  G.  Appleton, 
the  son  of  Nathan  Ap[)leton,  sold  the  old  home 
(which  originall}"  belonged  to  his  grandfather  Gould) 
to  Mr.  Plunkett,  he  insisted  that  the  old  clock 
should  not  be  included  in  the  sale.  It  was  brought 
to  Boston,  where  it  now  stands  in  the  hallway  of 
Mr.  Appleton’s  residence.  It  is  in  an  excellent 
condition,  and  as  yet  bears  but  few  signs  of  age. 
Some  years  ago  Mr.  Longfellow  purchased  an  old- 
fashioned  clock  at  a Boston  auction,  and  placed  it 
at  the  head  of  the  staircase  in  the  Craigie  House. 
From  seeing  it  there,  many  persons  formed  the  idea 
that  it  was  the  original  clock  spoken  of  in  the  poem ; 
which,  of  course,  is  erroneous.  All  the  incidents  in 
the  poem  occurred  in  the  history  of  the  Appleton 
family,  and  the  piece  was  written  by  Mr.  Longfel- 
low while  he  and  his  wife  were  revisiting  the  old 
house  at  Pittsfield. 

In  1847  Mr.  Longfellow  edited  a new  collection 
of  poems,  “ The  Estray,”  ^ which  Avas  not  unlike 
“The  Waif”  in  its  general  character.  Both  of 
these  books  are  now  very  scarce,  and  are  much 
sought  after  by  bibliomanists. 

1 The  Estray:  a Collection  of  Poems.  Boston:  W.  D.  Ticknor  & 
Co.,  1847.  [xiv.  145  pp.  Kimo.] 


The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs. 


: If,  / 


f 


* 


“ EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.”  297 


CHAPTER  XII. 


“EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.” 


(1847.) 


^HE  year  1847  witnessed  the  publication  of 


“Evangeline,  a Tale  of  Acadie.”^  Let  us 
glance  first  at  the  circumstances  which  suggested  it, 
and  next  at  the  poem  itself. 

In  the  spring  of  1755  Massachusetts  proposed  an 
expedition  against  Acadia,  or  Nova  Scotia,  which 
was  undertaken  and  conducted  at  the  expense  of 
the  crowm.  Troops  were  raised;  and  in  June  they 
arrived  in  the  province,  and  compelled  the  surrender 
of  the  French  forts.  These  successes,  at  so  early  a 
stage  of  the  war,  diffused  a general  feeling  of  joy 
through  the  colonies,  and  were  welcomed  as  omens 
of  future  good  fortune.  After  the  French  forts  were 
subdued,  the  next  question  to  be  decided  was,  what 
should  be  done  with  the  Acadians,  some  thousands 
in  number? 

The  Acadians  were  the  earliest  European  occu- 
pants of  the  country,  and  had  dwelt  in  it  then  for 
over  two  hundred  years.  Frugal  in  their  habits,  and 
of  a mild  disposition,  their  attention  had  been  turned 

1 Evangeline,  a Tale  of  Acadie.  By  Henry  Wadsworth  Long- 
fellow, Boston.  W.  D.  Ticknor  & Co  , 1H47.  [12rno,  pp.  163.] 


298 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


from  luinting  and  fishing,  the  delight  of  their  ances- 
tors, to  the  cultivation  of  the  soil ; and  by  diligent 
effort  they  had  reclaimed  from  the  forest  and  tlie 
ocean  the  farms  on  which  they  dwelt.  By  the  treaty 
of  Utrecht  they  had  been  brought  under  the  domin- 
ion of  England ; but  they  still  loved  the  language 
and  the  usages  of  their  fathers,  and  the  religion  of 
their  childhood  was  graven  upon  their  souls.  For 
forty  years  they  were  neglected  by  the  English ; and 
in  that  time  they  prospered,  and  their  substance  in- 
creased. The  crops  from  their  fields  were  exceed- 
ingly rich.  Flocks  and  herds  grazed  in  the  meadows, 
or  roamed  over  the  hills ; domestic  fowls  abounded ; 
and  the  thickly  clustered  villages  of  neat,  thatched- 
roof  cottages  sheltered  a frugal,  happy  people.  The 
spinning-wheel  and  the  loom  were  busily  plied ; and, 
from  morn  to  night,  matrons  and  maidens,  young 
men  and  their  sires,  toiled  for  the  bread  which  they 
ate  in  peace. 

Since  the  settlement  of  the  English,  they  had  been 
grievously  oppressed.  Was  their  property  demanded 
for  the  public  service  ? It  must'  be  yielded  immedi- 
ately, or  “ the  next  courier  would  bring  an  order  for 
military  execution  upon  the  delinquents.”  Did  they 
delay  in  bringing  fire-wood  at  the  bidding  of  their 
masters?  “If  they  do  not  do  it  in  proper  time,” 
was  the  harsh  mandate  of  the  governor,  “the  sol- 
diers shall  absolutely  take  their  houses  for  fuel.” 
But  what  was  to  be  done  with  the  Acadians? 

The  order  went  forth  from  Gov.  Lawrence  that 
they  should  be  driven  from  the  homes  they  loved, 
and  scattered  as  exiles  over  the  whole  breadth  of  the 


“EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.”  299 

continent.  The  liberty  of  transmigration  was  re- 
fused. They  were  to  be  treated  as  captives,  and  as 
captives  they  were  to  be  sent  out  to  live  among  the 
English.  The  execution  of  this  sentence,  so  harsh 
and  vindictive,  was  allotted  to  the  New-England 
forces. 

To  persuade  the  Acadians  to  a voluntary  exile  was 
seen  to  be  impracticable  : artifice,  therefore,  must  be 
resorted  to,  — to  kidnap  and  entrap  them.  A gen- 
eral proclamation  ordered  all  the  males  of  the  settle- 
ments, “ both  old  and  young  men,  as  well  as  all  the 
lads  of  ten  years  of  age,”  to  assemble  at  the  church 
at  Grand-Pre  on  Friday,  at  three  o’clock  in  the  after- 
noon, then  and  there  to  hear  his  Majesty’s  orders 
communicated,  declaring  that  no  excuse  would  be 
admitted  on  any  pretence  whatever,  “ on  pain  of 
forfeiting  goods  and  chattels  in  default  of  real 
estate.” 

On  the  appointed  day.  Sept.  5,  1755,  four  hundred 
and  eighteen  unarmed  men  assembled  in  the  temple ; 
while,  without,  their  wives,  with  careworn  looks, 
awaited  the  issue  of  the  strange  conference.  The 
doors  were  closed,  and  the  sentence  was  pronounced. 
“ It  is  his  Majesty’s  orders,”  such  were  the  words, 
“and  they  are  peremptory,  that  the  whole  French 
inhabitants  of  these  districts  be  removed.  Your 
lands  and  tenements,  cattle  of  all  kinds,  and  live- 
stock of  all  sorts,  are  forfeited  to  the  crown,  with  all 
your  other  effects,  saving  your  money  and  house- 
hold goods ; and  you  yourselves  are  to  be  removed 
from  this  province.  I shall  do  every  thing  in  my 
power  that  your  goods  be  secured  to  you,  and  that 


800 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


you  are  not  molested  in  carrying  them  off ; also,  that 
whole  families  shall  go  in  the  same  vessel,  and  that 
this  removal  be  made  as  easy  as  his  Majesty’s  service 
will  admit.  And  I hope,  that,  in  whatever  part  of 
the  world  you  may  fall,  you  may  be  faithful  subjects, 
a peaceful  and  happy  people.  Meanwhile  you  are 
the  king’s  prisoners,  and  will  remain  in  security 
under  the  inspection  and  direction  of  the  troops  I 
have  the  honor  to  command.” 

These  words  were  received  with  unbroken  silence. 
Then  a loud  wail  of  anguish  echoed  through  the 
aisles  and  arches  of  the  building.  Every  heart 
ached  in  Grand-Pre  that  night.  No  “Angelus” 
sounded  softly  at  sunset : the  “ summer  of  all 
saints  ” had  lost  its  beauty.  Old  men  seemed  to 
grow  older  beneath  the  cruel  sentence ; young  men 
looked  with  dread  into  the  future ; mothers  clasped 
their  little  ones  to  their  hearts,  and  wept  bitterly ; 
and  maidens  shrank  timidly  from  the  embraces  of 
their  lovers,  and  felt  the  first  sorrow  of  their 
love. 

On  the  10th  of  September  the  inhabitants  of 
Grand-Pre  met  for  the  last  time,  — in  all  nineteen 
hundred  and  twenty-three  souls.  The  prisoners  in 
the  church  were  drawn  up  six  deep ; and  the  young 
men,  one  hundred  and  forty-one  in  number,  were 
ordered  to  march  first  on  board  the  vessels.  With 
frenzied  despair  they  refused  to  be  separated  from 
their  parents  and  companions,  and  at  the  point  of 
the  bayonet  obedience  was  enforced.  Next,  the 
fathers,  one  hundred  and  nine  in  number,  were 
commanded  to  embark ; and  eighty-nine  obeyed. 


‘‘EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE. 


301 


^9 


Then,  most  dreadful  of  all,  mothers  and  little  ones 
were  told  they  must  wait  until  fresh  transports  ar- 
rived. The  bleak  month  of  December  came  before 
they  left;  but  where  would  they  find  those  from 
whom  they  had  been  separated? 

Thus  dispersed  throughout  the  world,  the  Acadi- 
ans  became  nearly  extinct.  A few  of  their  descend- 
ants still  live  at  the  South,  but  they  live  to  us  now 
chiefly  in  history.  “ If  this  affair,”  says  a writer, 
“had  occurred  on  the  great  theatre  of  European 
politics,  the  names  of  all  who  were  engaged  in  it 
would  have  been  handed  down  to  the  execration 
of  posterity.  It  is  like  those  great  acts  of  pagan 
cruelty,  the  results  of  international  hatred,  — the 
reducing  of  whole  communities  to  slavery,  and  divid- 
ing their  lands  among  the  citizens  of  the  conquering 
nation,  — which  disgrace  the  pages  of  Greek  and  Ro- 
man history.  Compared  with  the  partition  of  Poland, 
the  standing  reproach  of  three  of  the  leading  powers 
of  modern  Europe,  the  desolation  of  Acadia  is  a 
crime  of  much  darker  dye.  The  former  transferred 
a nation  from  their  domestic  oppressors  to  a foreign 
master,  probably  bettering  their  condition  by  the 
exchange : the  latter  sunk  an  innocent  people  from 
a state  of  almost  unexampled  happiness  into  the 
miseries  of  utter  poverty  and  hopeless  exile.” 

In  his  poem  Mr.  Longfellow  selected  those  circum- 
stances in  the  history  most  susceptible  of  j)oetical 
treatment ; and,  by  combining  them,  he  formed  a tale 
of  rare  beauty,  tenderness,  and  moral  power.  In  the 
first  part  of  the  idyl  he  pictures  the  life  of  the  Aca- 
dians  of  the  village  of  Grand-Pre. 


302 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


“There  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  suininer,  when  brightly  the 
sunset 

Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes  on  the  chiin- 
neys, 

Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  caps  and  in  kirtles 
Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distaffs  spinning  the  golden 
Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy  shuttles  within  doors 
Mingled  their  sound  with  the  whir  of  the  wheels  and  the  songs 
of  the  maidens. 

Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest,  and  the  chil- 
dren 

Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended  to  bless 
them. 

Reverend  walked  he  among  them ; and  up  rose  matrons  and 
maidens. 

Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affectionate  welcome. 
Then  came  the  laborers  home  from  the  field,  and  serenely  the 
sun  sank 

Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.  Anon  from  the  belfry 
Softly  the  Angelus  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs  of  the  village 
Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  incense  ascending, 
Rose  from  a hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace  and  content- 
ment. 

Thus  dwelt  together  in  love  these  simple  Acadian  farmers,  — 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.  Alike  were  they  free 
from 

Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the  vice  of  repub- 
lics. 

Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars  to  their  win- 
dows ; 

But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the  hearts  of  the 
owners ; 

There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived  in  abun- 
dance.” 


The  poet  then  selects  one  group  from  this  happy 
village,  — that  of  “ Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealth- 


“EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.”  803 

iest  farmer  of  Grand-Pre ; ” and  his  daughter,  the 
“ gentle  Evangeline  ; ” and  her  favored  lover,  Gabriel 
Lajeunesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  blacksmith.  With 
the  assistance  of  the  notary  public,  the  betrothal  of 
the  lovers  is  formally  made.  This  takes  place  just 
before  the  dawning  of  the  5th  of  September. 

“ Then  Evangeline  lighted  the  brazen  lamp  on  the  table, 
Filled,  till  it  overflowed,  the  pewter  tankard  with  home-brewed 
Nut-brown  ale,  that  was  famed  for  its  strength  in  the  village  of 
Grand-Pre ; 

While  from  his  pocket  the  notary  drew  his  papers  and  inkhorn, 
Wrote  with  a steady  hand  the  date  and  the  age  of  the  parties. 
Naming  the  dower  of  the  bride  in  flocks  of  sheep  and  in  cattle. 
Orderly  all  things  proceeded,  and  duly  and  well  were  completed, 
And  the  great  seal  of  the  law  was  set  like  a sun  on  the  margin. 
Then  from  his  leathern  pouch  the  farmer  threw  on  the  table 
Three  times  the  old  man’s  fee  in  solid  pieces  of  silver ; 

And  the  notary  rising,  and  blessing  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom, 
Lifted  aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drank  to  their  welfare. 
Wiping  the  foam  from  his  lip,  he  solemnly  bowed  and  departed. 
While  in  silence  the  others  sat  and  mused  by  the  fireside. 

Till  Evangeline  brought  the  draught-board  out  of  its  corner. 
Soon  was  the  game  begun.  In  friendly  contention  the  old  men 
Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  unsuccessful  manoeuvre. 

Laughed  when  a man  was  crowned,  or  a breach  was  made  in 
the  king-row. 

Meanwhile  apart,  in  the  twilight  gloom  of  a window’s  embra- 
sure. 

Sat  the  lovers,  and  wliispered  together,  beholding  the  moon  rise 
Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist  of  the  meadows. 
Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of  heaven. 
Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots  of  the  angels. 

Thus  was  the  evening  passed.  Anon  the  bell  from  the  bel- 
fry 

Rang  out  the  hour  of  nine,  the  village  curfew,  and  straightway 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Rose  the  guests  and  departed  ; and  silence  reigned  in  the  house- 
liold. 

Many  a farewell  word  and  sweet  good-night  on  the  doorstep 

Lingered  long  in  Evangeline’s  heart,  and  filled  it  with  gladness. 

Carefully  then  were  covered  the  embers  that  glowed  on  the 
hearth-stone, 

And  on  the  oaken  stairs  resounded  the  tread  of  the  farmer. 

Soon  with  a soundless  step  the  foot  of  Evangeline  followed. 

Up  the  staircase  moved  a luminous  space  in  the  darkness, 

Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shining  face  of  the  maiden. 

Silent  she  passed  the  hall,  and  entered  the  door  of  her  chamber. 

Simple  that  chamber  was,  with  its  curtains  of  white,  and  its 
clothes-press 

Ample  and  high,  on  whose  spacious  shelves  were  carefully 
folded 

Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of  Evangeline  woven. 

This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would  bring  to  her  husband  in 
marriage. 

Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs  of  her  skill  as  a 
housewife. 

Soon  she  extinguished  her  lamp,  for  the  mellow  and  radiant 
moonlight 

Streamed  through  the  windows,  and  lighted  the  room,  till  the 
heart  of  the  maiden 

Swelled  and  obeyed  its  power,  like  the  tremulous  tides  of  the 
ocean. 

Ah  ! she  was  fair,  exceeding  fair  to  behold,  as  she  stood  with 

Naked  snow-white  feet  on  the  gleaming  floor  of  her  chamber ! 

Little  she  dreamed  that  below,  among  the  trees  of  the  orchard, 

Waited  her  lover  and  watched  for  the  gleam  of  her  lamp  and 
her  shadow. 

Y'et  were  her  thoughts  of  him,  and  at  times  a feeling  of  sad- 
ness 

Passed  o’er  her  soul,  as  the  sailing  shade  of  clouds  in  the  moon- 
light 

Flitted  across  the  floor  and  darkened  the  room  for  a moment. 

And,  as  she  gazed  from  the  window,  she  saw  serenely  the  moon 
pass 


“EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.”  305 

Forth  from  the  folds  of  a cloud,  and  one  star  follow  her  foot- 
steps, 

As  out  of  Abraham’s  tent  young  Ishmael  wandered  with  Ha- 
gar  ! ” 


Tlien  tlie  assembling  of  the  old  and  young  men  at 
the  cliiircli  is  graphically  described,  and  there  the 
cruel  order  of  his  Majesty  is  made  known  to  them. 
The  evening  has  come,  and  the  bell  of  the  “ An- 
gelas ” is  sounded. 

“ JMeanwhile,  amid  the  gloom,  by  the  church  Evangeline  lin- 
gered. 

All  was  silent  within ; and  in  vain  at  the  door  and  the  windows 
Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  till,  overcome  by  emotion, 

‘ Gabriel ! cried  she  aloud  with  tremulous  voice ; but  no  answer 
Came  from  the  graves  of  the  dead,  nor  the  gloomier  grave  of 
the  living. 

Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the  tenantless  house  of  her 
father. 

Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  board  was  the  supper 
untasted. 

Empty  and  drear  was  each  room,  and  haunted  with  phantoms 
of  terror. 

Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor  of  her  chamber. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  disconsolate  rain  fall 
Loud  on  the  withered  leaves  of  the  sycamore-tree  by  the  win- 
dow. 

Keenly  the  lightning  flashed;  and  the  voice  of  the  echoing 
thunder 

Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed  the  world  he 
created  ! 

Then  she  remembered  the  tale  slie  liad  heard  of  the  justice  of 
Heaven ; 

Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  and  she  peacefully  slumbered  till 
morning.” 


306 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFPR.LOW. 


With  tlie  destruction  of  the  village  and  the  em- 
barkation of  the  unhappy  prisoners,  the  first  part  of 
the  poem  closes.  Evangeline  sees  her  lover  torn 
from  her  embrace,  and  perhaps  lost  to  her  forever. 

“ Overwhelmed  with  the  sight,  yet  speechless,  the  priest  and 
the  maiden 

Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  reddened  and  widened  before 
them ; 

And  as  they  turned  at  length  to  speak  to  their  silent  companion, 
Lo ! from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,  and  stretched  abroad  on  the 
seashore 

Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had  departed. 
Slowly  the  priest  uplifted  the  lifeless  head,  and  the  maiden 
Knelt  at  her  father’s  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in  her  terror. 

Then  in  a swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with  her  head  on  his  bosom. 
Through  the  long  night  she  lay  in  deep,  oblivious  slumber ; 

And  when  she  woke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld  a multitude 
near  her. 

Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully  gazing  upon 
her. 

Pallid,  with  tearful  eyes,  and  looks  of  saddest  compassion. 

Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined  the  landscape, 
Keddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the  faces  around 
her, 

And  like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to  her  wavering  senses. 
Then  a familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to  the  people,  — 

‘ Let  us  bury  him  here  by  the  sea.  When  a happier  season 
Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  unknown  land  of  our 
exile,  * 

Then  shall  his  sacred  dust  be  piously  laid  in  the  churchyard.’ 
Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.  And  there  in  haste  by  the 
seaside. 

Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  funeral  torches, 

But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer  of  Grand- 
Pre. 

And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated  the  service  of  sorrow, 


“EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.”  307 


Lo ! with  a mournful  sound,  like  the  voice  of  a vast  congrega- 
tion, 

Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar  with  the  dirges. 
'Twas  the  returning  tide,  that  afar  from  the  waste  of  the  ocean, 
With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving  and  hurrying 
landward. 

Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise  of  embarking ; 
And  with  the  ebb  of  the  tide  the  ships  sailed  out  of  the  harbor. 
Leaving  behind  them  the  dead  on  the  shore,  and  the  village  in 
ruins.” 

The  scene  changes  in  the  second  part  of  the  poem. 
Many  years  have  now  passed  since  the  colonists  were 
carried  into  exile.  During  all  this  time  Evangeline 
has  been  wandering  in  search  of  Gabriel.  At  length 
in  Louisiana  she  finds  the  home  of  Basil  the  black- 
smith, who  has  now  become  a herdsman. 

“ Just  where  the  woodlands  met  the  flowery  surf  of  the  prai- 
rie, 

Mounted  upon  his  horse,  with  Spanish  saddle  and  stirrups, 

Sat  a herdsman,  arrayed  in  gaiters  and  doublet  of  deerskin. 
Broad  and  brown  was  the  face  that  from  under  the  Spanish 
sombrero 

Gazed  on  the  peaceful  scene,  with  the  lordly  look  of  its  master. 
Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds  of  kine,  that  were 
grazing 

Quietly  in  the  meadows,  and  breathing  the  vapory  freshness 
That  uprose  from  the  river,  and  spread  itself  over  the  land- 
scape. 

Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his  side,  and  expanding 
Fully  his  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a blast,  that  resounded 
Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  through  the  still  damp  air  of  the 
evening. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  white  horns  of  the  cattle 
Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  currents  of  ocean. 


808 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Silent  a moment  they  gazed,  then  bellowing  rushed  o’er  the 
prairie, 

And  the  whole  mass  became  a cloud,  a shade  in  the  distance. 

Then,  as  the  herdsman  turned  to  the  house,  through  the  gate  of 
the  garden 

Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the  maiden  advancing  to 
meet  him. 

Suddenly  down  from  his  horse  he  sprang  in  amazement,  and 
forward 

Rushed  with  extended  arms  and  exclamations  of  wonder ; 

When  they  beheld  his  face,  they  recognized  Basil  the  black- 
smith. 

Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  led  his  guests  to  the  garden. 

There  in  an  arbor  of  roses  with  endless  question  and  answer 

Gave  they  vent  to  their  hearts,  and  renewed  their  friendly  em- 
braces. 

Laughing  and  weeping  by  turns,  or  sitting  silent  and  thought- 
ful. 

Thoughtful,  for  Gabriel  came  not ; and  now  dark  doubts  and 
misgivings 

Stole  o’er  the  maiden’s  heart;  and  Basil,  somewhat  embar- 
rassed. 

Broke  the  silence  and  said,  ‘If  you  came  by  the  Atchafalaya, 

How  have  you  nowhere  encountered  my  Gabriel’s  boat  on  the 
bayous  ? ’ 

Over  Evangeline’s  face  at  the  words  of  Basil  a shade  passed. 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  a tremulous  accent, 

‘Gone?  is  Gabriel  gone?  ’ and,  concealing  her  face  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

All  her  o’erburdened  heart  gave  way,  and  she  wept  and  la- 
mented. 

Then  the  good  Basil  said,  — and  his  voice  grew  blithe  as  he 
said  it,  — 

‘ Be  of  good  cheer,  my  child ; it  is  only  to-day  he  departed. 

Foolish  boy  ! he  has  left  me  alone  with  my  herds  and  my  horses. 

Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled,  his  spirit 

Could  no  longer  endure  the  calm  of  this  quiet  existence. 

Thinking  ever  of  thee,  uncertain  and  sorrowful  ever, 


“EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.”  309 


Ever  silent,  or  speaking  only  of  thee  and  his  troubles, 

He  at  length  had  become  so  tedious  to  men  and  to  maidens. 
Tedious  even  to  me,  that  at  length  I bethought  me,  and  sent 
him 

Unto  the  town  of  Adayes  to  trade  for  mules  with  the  Spaniards. 
Thence  he  will  follow  the  Indian  trails  to  the  Ozark  Moun- 
tains, 

Hunting  for  furs  in  the  forests,  on  riVers  trapping  the  beaver. 
Therefore  be  of  good  cheer ; we  will  follow  the  fugitive  lover ; 
He  is  not  far  on  his  way,  and  the  Fates  and  the  streams  are 
against  him. 

Up  and  away  to-morrow,  and  through  the  red  dew  of  the  morn- 
ing 

We  will  follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him  back  to  his  prison.’  ” 

The  next  day  Evangeline  resumes  the  journey, 
accompanied  by  Basil ; but  they  find  no  trace  of  Ga- 
briel until  they  reach  the  Spanish  town  of  Adayes, 
which  Gabriel  had  left  for  the  prairies  only  a few 
days  before.  Evangeline  arrives  at  the  Jesuit  mis- 
sion, where  she  remains  until  the  autumn,  hoping  to 
meet  Gabriel ; but  again  is  she  disappointed : so  the 
search  continues  year  after  year. 

“ Thus  did  the  long  sad  years  glide  on,  and  in  seasons  and 
places 

Divers  and  distant  far  was  seen  the  wandering  maiden ; — 

Now  in  the  Tents  of  Grace  of  the  meek  Moravian  Missions, 
Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  battle-fields  of  the  army. 

Now  in  secluded  hamlets,  in  towns  and  populous  cities. 

Like  a phantom  she  came,  and  passed  away  unremembered. 

Fair  was  she  and  young,  when  in  hope  began  the  long  journey; 
Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disappointment  it  ended. 

Each  succeeding  year  stole  something  away  from  her  beauty, 
Leaving  behind  it,  broader  and  deeper,  the  gloom  and  the 
shadow. 


310 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Then  there  appeared  and  spread  faint  streaks  of  gray  o’er  her 
forehead, 

Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o’er  her  earthly  horizon, 

As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  taint  streaks  of  the  morning.” 

At  last  Evangeline  finds  a home  among  “ the  chil- 
dren of  Penn,”  and  becomes  a sister  of  mercy  in 
Philadelphia.  A plague  falls  upon  the  city ; and 
day  and  night  Evangeline  is  in  attendance  upon  the 
poor  in  the  “almshouse,  home  of  the  friendless.” 

“ Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a feeling  of  wonder. 
Still  she  stood,  with  her  colorless  lips  apart,  while  a shudder 
Ran  through  her  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  flowerets  dropped 
from  her  fingers. 

And  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks  the  light  and  bloom  of  the 
morning. 

Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a cry  of  such  terrible  anguish, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from  their  pillows. 

Ou  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched  the  form  of  an  old  man. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray  were  the  locks  that  shaded  his  tem- 
ples ; 

But,  as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for  a moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  forms  of  its  earlier  manhood; 
So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those  who  are  dying. 
Hot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush  of  the  fever. 

As  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood  had  besprinkled  its  por- 
tals. 

That  the  Angel  of  Death  might  see  the  sign,  and  pass  over. 
Motionless,  senseless,  dying,  he  lay,  and  his  spirit  exhausted 
Seemed  to  be  sinking  down  through  infinite  depths  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

Darkness  of  slumber  and  death,  forever  sinking  and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  multiplied  reverbera- 
tions. 

Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through  the  hush  that  suc- 
ceeded 


311 


“ EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE.” 

Whispered  a s:eiitle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and  saint-like, 

‘ Gabriel ! O my  beloved  ! ’ and  died  away  into  silence. 

Then  he  beheld,  in  a dream,  once  more  the  home  of  his  child- 
hood ; 

Green  Acadian  meadows,  with  sylvan  rivers  among  them. 
Village,  and  mountain,  and  woodlands;  and,  walking  under 
their  shadow, 

As  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in  his  vision. 
Tears  came  into  his  eyes ; and  as  slowly  he  lifted  his  eyelids. 
Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knelt  by  his  bed- 
side. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,  for  the  accents  un- 
uttered 

Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what  his  tongue 
would  have  spoken. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  rise;  and  Evangeline,  kneeling  beside  him, 
Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her  bosom 
Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes ; but  it  suddenly  sank  into 
darkness, 

As  when  a lamp  is  blown  out  by  a gust  of  wind  at  a casement. 

All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear,  and  the  sorrow. 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied  longing. 

All  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and  constant  anguish  of  patience ! 

And,  as  she  pressed  once  more  the  lifeless  head  to  lier  bosom. 
Meekly  she  bowed  her  own,  and  murmured,  ‘ Father,  I thank 
thee  1 ’ ” 


Such  are  the  outlines  of  this  beautiful  and  pa- 
thetic story,  based,  as  the  reader  will  now  ])erceive, 
without  much  exaggeration,  upon  the  historical  facts 
previously  cited  in  this  chapter. 

In  “ Evangeline  ” Mr.  Longfellow  has  managed 
the  hexameter  with  wonderful  skill.  “ So  smooth 
and  easy  is  the  versification,”  remarks  a critic,  “ so 
few  are  the  forced  accents  in  Mr.  Longfellow’s  hex- 


312 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


ameters,  that  persons  wlio  have  never  scanned  a Latin 
heroic  have  learned  to  recognize  and  enjoy  the 
rliythm  of  ‘ Evangeline  ’ before  they  have  read  the 
poem  through.  Pauses  and  caesuras  and  structure 
are  constantly  changing ; and  once  in  a while  a 
stately  and  sonorous  classic  phrase  gives  a Virgil- 
iaii  compactness  to  an  odd  line,  and  prevents  our 
quite  forgetting  the  foreign  descent  of  the  measure 
Mr.  Longfellow  has  naturalized.” 

“ Evangeline  ” was  written  upon  a theme  which 
was  suggested  to  Hawthorne  by  a friend  who  had 
heard  it  from  a French  Canadian,  and  by  him  made 
over  to  Mr.  Longfellow.^  When  the  poem  appeared 
in  print,  Hawthorne  wrote,  “ I have  read  ‘ Evange- 
line ’ with  more  pleasure  than  it  would  be  decorous 
to  express.  It  cannot  fail,  I think,  to  prove  the 
most  triumphant  of  all  your  successes.” 

Hawthorne  also  wrote  a review  of  the  poem,  and 
published  it  in  a Salem  newspaper.  His  admiration 
drew  from  the  poet  the  following  characteristic 
reply : — 

“My  dear  Hawthorne,  — I have  been  waiting  and 
waiting  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you  in  Cambridge.  I have 
been  meditating  upon  your  letter,  and  pondering  with 

1 “ H.  L.  C heard  from  a French  Canadian  a story  of  a young 

couple  in  Acadia.  On  their  marriage-day  all  the  men  of  the  prov- 
ince were  summoned  to  assemble  in  the  church  to  hear  a proclama- 
tion. When  assembled,  they  were  all  seized  and  sliipped  off  to  be 
distributed  through  New  England,  among  them  the  new  bridegroom. 
His  bride  set  off  in  search  of  him;  wandered  about  New  England  all 
her  lifetime;  and  at  last,  when  she  was  old,  she  found  her  bride- 
groom on  his  death-bed.  The  shock  was  so  great  that  it  killed  her 
likewise.”  (Hawthorne’s  American  Note-Books,  Oct.  24,  1839.) 


“EVANGELINE,  A TALE  OF  ACADIE. 


313 


friendly  admiration  your  review  of  ‘Evangeline,’  in  con- 
nection with  the  subject  of  which,  that  is  to  say,  the  Aca- 
dians,  a literary  project  arises  in  my  mind  for  you  to 
execute.  Perhaps  I can  pay  you  back,  in  part,  your  own 
generous  gift,  by  giving  you  a theme  for  a story,  in  return 
for  a theme  for  a song.  It  is  neither  more  nor  less  than 
the  history  of  the  Acadians,  after  their  expulsion,  as  well 
as  before.  Felton  has  been  making  some  researches  in 
the  State  archives,  and  offers  to  resign  the  documents 
into  your  hands. 

‘ ‘ Pray  come  and  see  me  about  it  without  delay.  Come 
so  as  to  pass  a night  with  us,  if  possible,  this  week,  if  not 
a day  and  night. 

“ Ever  sincerely  yours, 

“HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW.” 


814 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  PERIOD  OP  “HIAWATHA.** 

(1847-1855.) 

IN  1849  appeared  the  least  popular  of  all  of 
Mr.  Longfellow’s  productions.  It  was  entitled 
Kavanagh,”  ^ and  aimed  to  be  a story  of  New-Eng- 
land  life  and  customs.  The  tale  was  written  during 
the  previous  summer,  at  the  Melville  House,  not  far 
from  the  home  of  Dr.  Holmes,  in  Pittsfield,  Mass. 
Much  of  the  scenery  and  a little  of  the  story  were 
derived  from  the  author’s  wooing  and  marriage. 

As  already  stated,  the  book  never  attracted  a 
wide  circle  of  readers ; and,  at  the  present  time,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  it  is  ever  read  by  many  so-called 
novel-readers.  Nevertheless,  the  work  possesses  cer- 
tain merits,  which  the  able  pen  of  Mr.  Lowell  has 
most  gracefully  portrayed.  On  the  first  appearance 
of  the  work,  he  wrote,  “ It  is  a story  told  to  us,  as  it 
were,  while  we  lie  under  a tree ; and  the  ear  is  will- 
ing at  the  same  time  to  take  in  other  sounds.  The 
gurgle  of  the  brook,  the  rustle  of  the  leaves,  even 
noises  of  life  and  toil  (if  they  be  distant),  such  as 
the  rattle  of  the  white-topped  wagon,  and  the  regu- 
lar pulse  of  the  thresher’s  fiail,  reconcile  themselves 

1 Kavanagh;  a Tale.  By  H.  W.  Longfellow.  Boston,  1849. 


Longfellow  at  Forty-Five 


V' 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.” 


315 


to  the  main  theme,  and  re-enforce  it  with  a harmo- 
nious accompaniment.” 

Notwithstanding  Mr.  Lowell’s  appreciative  criti- 
cism, the  “ story,”  which  can  scarcely  be  so  termed, 
is  incapable  of  giving  much  pleasure  to  modern 
readers.  There  is  almost  an  entire  absence  of  plot, 
the  procrastinating  but  exceedingly  visionary  hero 
tries  the  patience  of  even  his  most  charitable  ad- 
mirer, and  a want  of  unity  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  incidents  of  the  narrative  severely  mars  the  fine 
touches  of  local  coloring  and  sweetness  imparted  to 
them  by  the  flowing  style  of  the  author. 

The  ill  success  of  “ Kavanagh  ” was  partially  com- 
pensated for  by  the  publication  in  the  following 
year  of  a fresh  volume  of  poems,  “ The  Seaside  and 
the  Fireside.”  ^ 

The  most  notable  piece  in  the  volume  was  enti- 
tled “ The  Building  of  the  Ship,”  one  of  the  most 
powerful  productions  of  its  distinguished  author. 
The  first  suggestion  was  revealed  to  Mr.  Longfellow 
while  on  a visit  to  his  native  State ; but  the  most 
striking  passages  in  it  came  later,  while  he  and  Mr. 
Sumner  were  conversing  on  certain  subjects  asso- 
ciated with  the  political  excitement  of  that  period. 
The  “Free-Soil”  party,  “whose  leading  policy  was 
free  soil,  free  labor,  free  speech,  free  men,  and  op- 
position to  the  extension  of  slavery  and  of  the  slave- 
holding power,  taking  the  place  of  the  old  Liberty 
j)arty,”  had  just  been  formed.^  In  Massachusetts, 

1 The  Seaside  and  the  Fireside.  By  H.  W.  Longfellow.  Boston, 
1850. 

2 Vide  History  of  Massachusetts.  By  the  author,  pp.  450^61. 


816 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


conventions  and  speech-making  were  the  order  of 
the  day ; and,  in  the  course  of  events,  the  Whig 
party,  having  lost  its  vital  principle,  became  a mere 
faction,  and  gradually  went  out  of  existence  as  a 
political  power.  Its  national  representative,  how- 
ever, Millard  Fillmore,  had  been  inducted  into  the 
presidential  office,  and  had,  shortly  afterwards,  signed 
the  infamous  “Fugitive  Slave  Bill,”  which  aroused 
the  spirit  of  the  North.  Faneuil  Hall  never  rang 
with  more  impassioned  eloquence  than  when,  on  the 
3d  of  October,  1850,  Charles  Sumner  lifted  up  his 
voice  in  the  defence  of  national  honor  and  the  per- 
petuation of  Right. 

At  such  a time,  when  public  indignation  rolled 
forth  like  a torrent,  and  the  foundation  of  the  gov- 
ernment itself  seemed  to  be  on  the  verge  of  disunion, 
appeared  those  majestic  verses  of  the  poet,  ringing, 
every  word  of  them,  with  true  patriotism,  and  falling 
upon  the  excited  public  like  oil  upon  the  troubled 
waters. 

“ Thou,  too,  sail  on,  O Ship  of  State  ! 

Sail  on,  O Union,  strong  and  great ! 

Humanity  with  all  its  fears. 

With  all  the  hopes  of  future  years, 

Is  hanging  breathless  on  thy  fate  ! 

We  know  what  Master  laid  thy  keel, 

AVhat  Workmen  wrought  thy  ribs  of  steel. 

Who  made  each  mast,  and  sail,  and  rope, 

What  anvils  rang,  what  hammers  beat. 

In  what  a forge  and  what  a heat 
Were  shaped  the  anchors  of  thy  hope ! 

Fear  not  each  sudden  sound  and  shock, 

’Tis  of  the  wave  and  not  the  rock  ; 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.” 


317 


’Tis  but  the  flapping  of  the  sail, 

And  not  a rent  made  by  the  gale ! 

In  spite  of  rock  and  tempest’s  roar, 

In  spite  of  false  lights  on  the  shore, 

Sail  on,  nor  fear  to  breast  the  sea ! 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  are  all  with  thee. 

Our  hearts,  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  tears. 

Our  faith  triumphant  o’er  our  fears. 

Are  all  with  thee,  — are  all  with  thee  ! ” ■ 

Above  the  sublime  eloquence  of  these  verses,  the 
poetic  mind  of  Mr.  Longfellow  never  soared : they 
carry  us  back  to  the  early  days  of  the  world’s  his- 
tory, Avhen  the  bard  was  both  the  inspirer  and  the 
priest  of  the  people. 

“ The  Secret  of  the  Sea  ” was  suggested  to  the 
poet  Avhile  sailing  down  Boston  Harbor,  as  was  also 
“ The  Lighthouse.”  In  1849  the  poet  passed  a few 
days  at  the  old  Devereux  farm,  near  Marblehead, 
and  there  wrote  the  oft-quoted  poem  of  “ The  Fire 
of  Driftwood.”  The  most  touching  poem  in  the 
volume  is  that  entitled  “Resignation,”  which  has 
found  a place  in  thousands  of  bereaved  hearts. 

In  this  year  a collected  edition  of  Mr.  Longfellow’s 
poems  was  brought  out  by  special  arrangement,  in 
New  York,  by  Messrs.  Harper  & Brothers.^  The 
collection  ended  with  “ Evangeline.” 

Mr.  Longfellow’s  fondness  for  mediaeval  subjects 
showed  itself  again  in  the  dramatic  poem  entitled 
“ The  Golden  Legend,”  which  was  published  in  1851.2 

1 The  Poems  of  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  complete  in  one 
volume.  New  York:  Harper  & Brothers,  1849.  (8vo,  pp.  14G.) 

2 The  Golden  Legend.  By  H.  W.  Longfellow.  Boston. : Ticknor 
& Fields,  1851. 


318 


HENllY  WADSWOIlTlt  LONGFELLOW. 


The  design  of  this  produetioii  was,  to  present  a series 
of  pictures,  illustrating  different  aspects  of  life  in  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  story,  of  which  only  tlie  faintest 
outline  can  be  given  here,  is  perhaps  better  suited 
to  a poem,  is  exceedingly  simple,  and  not  without 
interest. 

The  time  is  in  the  early  part  of  the  thirteentli  cen- 
tury. A German  prince,  a student  of  alchemy,  is 
afflicted  with  a strange  disease  which  baffles  the  skill 
of  the  ablest  physicians.  While  he  is  sitting  in  his 
tower,  bewailing  his  former  happiness,  Lucifer  in 
the  guise  of  a travelling  physician,  comes  and  assures 
him  that  his  wonderful  catholicon  will  speedily  make 
him  a well  man.  He  at  once  produces  a bottle  of 
the  elixir  vitse,  of  which  the  prince  takes  a draught. 
In  consequence  of  this  intercourse  with  the  Devil, 
the  prince  is  excommunicated  from  the  church,  and 
driven  into  exile. 

“ And  forth  from  the  chapel-door  he  went 
Into  disgrace  and  banishment, 

Clothed  in  a cloak  of  hodden  gray, 

And  bearing  a wallet,  and  a bell. 

Whose  sound  should  be  a perpetual  knell 
To  keep  all  travellers  away.” 

The  prince  wanders  off  to  a farm  in  the  Odenwald, 
where  he  is  kindly  received  by  its  humble  tenant. 
Elsie,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  peasant,  having 
learned  that  the  prince  cannot  be  cured,  — 

“ Unless 

Some  maiden,  of  her  own  accord. 

Offers  her  life  for  that  of  her  lord, 

And  is  willing  to  die  in  his  stead,”  — 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.”  319 

offers  to  make  the  sacrifice  herself.  Lucifer  insinu- 
ates himself  into  the  village  confessional  during  the 
absence  of  the  priest,  and  persuades  the  prince  and 
the  girl’s  mother  to  consent  to  her  death.  Elsie  re- 
mains true  to  her  pledge. 

“ My  life  is  little, 

Only  a cup  of  water, 

But  pure  and  limpid. 

Take  it,  O my  prince ! 

Let  it  refresh  you, 

Let  it  restore  you. 

It  is  given  willingly, 

It  is  given  freely ; 

May  God  bless  the  gift ! ” 

The  prince  and  Elsie  now  make  a journey  to  Sa- 
lerno, where  the  latter  is  to  make  the  sacrifice  of  her 
life.  The  various  objects  and  incidents  occurring  in 
the  journey  are  graphically  described,  and  occupy  a 
considerable  part  of  the  poem.  When  Salerno  is 
reached,  Lucifer  again  appears  in  the  guise  of  a 
priest,  and  strenuously  urges  the  completion  of  the 
sacrifice.  Elsie  adheres  to  her  determination  to  die ; 
but,  just  as  she  is  on  the  point  of  executing  her  pur- 
pose, the  prince  interferes,  and  saves  her  life. 
Touched  by  her  constancy  and  devotion,  he  soon 
after  marries  her,  is  cured,  and  returns  home  amid 
great  rejoicing. 

The  portrayal  of  the  character  of  the  peasant-girl 
is  masterly  ; and  in  only  one  other  of  Mr.  Longfel- 
low's creations  do  we  feel  more  interest,  — Evange- 
line. But  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  poem  is 
the  least  read,  for  the  reason,  probably,  that  it  is 


820 


HENRY  WAI)«W(HITH  LONGFELLOW. 


not  included  in  the  popular  edition  of  the  poet’s 
works. 

At  Commencement  in  1854  Mr.  Longfellow  closed 
his  professional  labors  at  Harvard  College.  For 
eighteen  years  he  had  attended  faithfully  to  his 
duties  as  an  instructor  of  young  men,  and  had 
won  their  respect  and  confidence.  The  students 
regretted  his  resignation  not  less  than  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  faculty,  with  whom  he  had  been  inti- 
mately associated.  By  his  efforts  and  foresight  he 
had  succeeded  in  raising  the  department  of  modern 
languages  to  a high  degree  of  eminence  ; and  the 
reputation  of  that  department  had  gone  over  the 
whole  country,  and  its  leading  features  had  been 
adopted  as  models  in  the  establishing  of  similar 
departments  in  other  American  colleges. 

But  Mr.  Longfellow  did  not  leave  the  college 
without  providing  for  a worthy  successor.  At  his 
suggestion,  James  Russell  Lowell,  a graduate  of 
Harvard  in  the  class  of  1839,  and  only  twelve  years 
the  junior  of  Mr.  Longfellow,  was  elected  to  fill  the 
vacancy.  Thus  one  poet  of  renown  was  followed  by 
another  poet  of  deserving  reputation. 

In  the  month  of  October,  1855,  a small  16  mo  vol- 
ume, containing  “The  Song  of  Hiawatha,”  was  given 
to  the  public.  The  following  full  and  explicit  state- 
ment by  Mr.  Longfellow  of  the  sources  from  which 
he  had  derived  the  material  of  his  poem  was  pub- 
lished in  a note  : — 

“ This  Indian  Edda  — if  I may  so  call  it  — is 
founded  on  a tradition,  prevalent  among  the  North 
American  Indians,  of  a personage  of  miraculous  birth, 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.”  321 

who  was  sent  among  them  to  clear  their  rivers,  forests, 
and  fishing-grounds,  and  to  teach  them  the  arts  of 
peace.  He  was  known  among  different  tribes  by  the 
several  names  of  Michabou,  Chiabo,  Manabozo,  Taren- 
yawagon,  and  Hiawatha.  Mr.  Schoolcraft  gives  an 
account  of  him  in  his  ‘ Algic  Researches,’  vol.  i.,  p. 
134;  and  in  his  ‘History,  Condition,  and  Prospects 
of  the  Indian  Tribes  of  the  United  States,’  Part  III. 
p.  314,  may  be  found  the  Iroquois  form  of  the  tra- 
dition, derived  from  the  verbal  narrations  of  an 
Onondaga  chief.  Into  this  old  tradition  I have 
woven  other  curious  Indian  legends,  drawn  chiefly 
from  the  various  and  valuable  writings  of  Mr.  School- 
craft, to  whom  the  literary  world  is  greatly  indebted 
for  his  indefatigable  zeal  in  rescuing  from  oblivion 
so  much  of  the  legendary  lore  of  the  Indians.  The 
scene  of  the  poem  is  among  the  Ojibways  on  the 
southern  shore  of  Lake  Superior,  in  the  region  be- 
tween the  Pictured  Rocks  and  the  Grand  Sable.” 

It  had  often  been  remarked  by  intelligent  people 
versed  in  the  subject,  that  the  legends  and  traditions 
of  the  Indians  of  North  America  merited  to  be  pre- 
served elsewhere  than  in  the  prosy  volumes  of  an 
archseologist.  Over  and  over  again  the  Phi  Beta 
Kappa  orators  had  dwelt  on  the  resources  of  “bound- 
less prairies  and  untrodden  forests  ” for  poetry ; 
but  not  yet  had  any  genuine  poet  come  forward  to 
seek  out  their  mysteries,  and  to  weave  them  into 
“ mellifluous  verse.”  To  be  sure,  Campbell  had  done 
a little  in  this  way  in  his  “ Gertrude  of  Wyoming ; ” 
Southey  had  made  a complete  failure  in  “ Madoc ; ” 
and  a few  other  Indian  poems  had  been  published, 


822 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


and  were  now  forgotten.  It  required  courage,  and 
not  alone  tliis,  hut  learning,  and  a comhination  of 
tlic  poetical  and  liistorical  instincts  as  well,  to  take 
up  tlic  tlieme  again,  and  make  of  it  a result  alto- 
gether successful  and  worthy  of  renown. 

Mr.  Longfellow  carried  the  subject  in  his  mind 
nearly  ten  years  before  he  brought  it  before  the 
public.  It  was  suggested  to  him  in  this  way.  A 
young  gentleman  who  had  graduated  from  Harvard 
College  in  one  of  those  early  classes  which  received 
so  much  attention  from  Professor  Longfellow,  just 
after  his  coming  to  Cambridge,  had  returned  from 
the  West  with  his  memory  well  stocked  with  recent 
experiences  among  the  Indians.  While  dining  one 
day  with  the  poet,  he  very  much  entertained  the 
latter  by  a recital  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard 
during  his  rambles  on  the  plains,  and  more  especially 
by  repeating  sone  of  the  legends  of  camp-fire  and 
lodge,  which,  as  he  claimed,  were  the  “ folk-lore  ” 
of  the  red  men.  He  very  strongly  suggested  to  Mr. 
Longfellow  the  pleasurable  task  of  weaving  these 
legends  into  a poem. 

Not  long  after,  Mr.  Longfellow  began  to  consider 
the  practicability  of  acting  on  the  suggestion ; and, 
first  of  all,  he  looked  about  him  to  learn  how  much 
had  been  attempted  and  accomplished  in  this  direc- 
tion. Pie  found,  that,  in  1839,  Mr.  Henry  Rowe 
Schoolcraft  had  published  a work  entitled  “Algic 
Researches,”  — a collection  of  Indian  tales  and  le- 
gends, mythologic  and  allegoric,  and,  withal,  one  of 
its  author’s  finest  productions.  The  legends  pre- 
served in  this  and  other  of  Mr.  Schoolcraft’s  writings 


323 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “ HIAWATHA.” 

showed  the  Indians  to  have  possessed  unwritten  litera- 
ture of  no  little  value  in  both  a poetical  and  a humor- 
ous sense.  There  was  much  delicacy  in  the  conception 
of  many  of  these  tales  of  the  spirits  of  earth  and  air, 
with  a genuine  quaintness  showing  an  affinity  with  the 
fairy  stories  of  the  northern  races  of  Europe. 

In  bringing  these  curious  traditions  to  light,  val- 
uable as  an  historical  index  to  the  character  of  the 
tribes,  as  well  as  for  their  invention,  Mr.  Schoolcraft 
ought  ever  to  merit  and  receive  the  grateful  remem- 
brance of  the  reading  portion  of  the  public.  He 
it  was  who  first  called  attention  to  this  department 
of  our  national  literature , and,  without  his  poetical 
interest  in  the  subject,  very  much  of  the  material 
which  he  has  preserved  would  probably  have  been 
lost,  and,  — we  speak  from  knowledge,  — the  poem 
of  “ Hiawatha  ” would  never  have  been  written.  “ I 
pored  over  Mr.  Schoolcraft’s  writings  nearly  three 
years,”  said  the  poet  during  one  of  our  conversations, 
“ before  I resolved  to  appropriate  something  of  them 
to  my  own  use.  Having  composed  nearly  five  hun- 
dred verses,  I suddenly  changed  my  mind,  and  aban- 
doned what  I had  written.  Then  I began  again,  and 
continued  writing  to  the  end.  It  was  not  until  some 
time  after  the  publication  of  the  poem  that  I looked 
upon  it  as  of  much  value,  and  only  until  I was 
assured  of  its  appreciation  on  the  part  of  my  critical 
readers  did  I begin  to  realize  how  mucli  I stood  in- 
debted to  Mr.  Schoolcraft.  I was  anxious  to  tell  him 
that  I was  his  largest  debtor,  and  I did  so  at  tlie 
earliest  opportunity.” 

A few  weeks  after  the  appearance  of  “ Hiawatha,’^ 


324 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


the  charge  was  made  by  a writer  in  a Washington 
newspaper  that  the  poet  had  borrowed  “ the  entire 
form,  spirit,  and  many  of  the  most  striking  incidents,” 
of  “ Kalevala,”  the  great  epic  poem  of  the  Finns. 
An  English  critic  went  still  farther,  and  affirmed, 
tliat  “ rhymeless  trochaic  dimeter  is  commonly  used 
throughout  Europe.  . . . Mr.  Longfellow,  in  his  un- 
alliterated trochaics,  may  with  as  little  reason  be 
said  to  imitate  the  metre  of  the  ‘ Kalevala,’  as  Phila- 
lethes,  in  his  rhymeless  iambic  catalectic  version  of 
the  ‘ Divina  Commedia,’  can  be  asserted  to  represent 
the  music  of  Dante.”  Still  another  critic,  Mr.  Fer- 
dinand Freiligrath,  summed  up  the  arguments,  and 
said,  “ I feel  perfectly  convinced,  that,  when  Mr. 
Longfellow  wrote  ‘ Hiawatha,’  the  sweet  monotony 
of  the  trochees  of  Finland,  and  not  the  mellow  and 
melodious  fall  of  those  of  Spain,  vibrated  in  his  soul.” 
Mr.  Freiligrath  discovered  no  imitations  on  the  part 
of  the  American  poet,  and  surely  no  one  was  more 
competent  to  do  so. 

The  controversy  seemed  never  to  have  an  end,  and 
for  a while  critics  amused  themselves  with  preferring 
charges  of  plagiarism  against  this  latest  production 
of  the  poet.  To  none  of  the  attacks  did  Mr.  Long- 
fellow make  any  open  reply,  notwithstanding  that 
he  was  often  urged  to  do  so  by  several  of  his  friends. 
At  length  a potent  defender  entered  the  field,  and 
forever  put  an  end  to  the  controversy. 

In  1856  Mr.  Schoolcraft  published  “ The  Myth  of 
Hiawatha,  and  other  Oral  Legends,  Mythologic  and 
Allegoric,  of  the  North  American  Indians.”  The 
following  was  the  letter  of  dedication : — 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.”  325 

“To  Professor  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

Sir,  — Permit  me  to  dedicate  to  you  this  volume  of 
Indian  myths  and  legends,  derived  from  the  story-telling 
circle  of  the  native  wigwams.  That  they  indicate  the 
possession,  by  the  vesperic  tribes,  of  mental  resources  of 
a very  characteristic  kind,  — furnishing,  in  fact,  a new 
point  from  which  to  judge  the  race  and  to  excite  intellect- 
ual sympathies, — you  have  most  felicitously  shown  in 
your  poem  of  ‘ Hiawatha.’  Not  only  so,  but  you  have 
demonstrated,  by  this  pleasing  series  of  pictures  of  Indian 
life,  sentiment,  and  invention,  that  the  use  of  the  native 
lore  reveals  one  of  the  true  sources  of  our  literary  inde- 
pendence. Greece  and  Rome,  England  and  Italy,  have 
so  long  furnished,  if  they  have  not  exhausted,  the  field  of 
poet  culture,  that  it  is  at  least  refreshing  to  find,  both  in 
theme  and  metre,  something  new. 

“ Very  truly  yours, 

“HENRY  R.  SCHOOLCRAFT.” 

Apropos  of  this  dedication,  an  able  and  painstaking 
writer  thus  remarks : “ It  is  a very  natural  remark, 
that  the  author  who  first  makes' popular  a peculiar 
style  or  measure  must  expect  to  be  charged  with 
plagiarism  by  the  ignoramus  who  makes  the  wonder- 
ful discovery  that  such  style  or  measure  did  not 
originate  with  the  writer  through  whose  agency  it 
became  known  to  him.” 

The  impression  made  upon  the  public  mind  by  the 
appearance  of  “ Hiawatha  ” was  more  marked  than 
that  of  all  of  his  previous  efforts.-  A German  critic 
declared,  that  “ Longfellow’s  epic  is  undoubtedly  the 
most  considerable  poem  which  has  appeared  for-  some 
years  in  the  English  language. ' Its  success  has  been 


326 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


unexampled  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  In  Lon- 
don the  book  has  been  twice  reprinted  ; and,  although 
we  ordered  it  immediately  after  its  publication,  we 
were  only  able  to  secure  a copy  of  the  fourth  edition. 
It  was  certainly  a happ}^  thought  to  gather  the 
legends  of  the  tawny  aborigines  of  North  America 
together  in  a great  poem.” 

“The  London  Athenaeum”  said,  “ Tlie  tale  itself 
is  beautiful,  fanciful,  and  new ; and  Longfellow  has 
worked  it  up  into  a poem  of  many  parts.  . . . He 
has  produced,  in  an  imaginary  memoir  of  the  hero, 
Hiawatha,  a picture  of  Indian  life  as  it  exists  in  the 
forest  and  by  the  river,  full  of  light  and  color,  repose 
and  action.  ...  It  is  beyond  all  doubt  that  this 
‘ Song  of  Hiawatha  ’ will  increase  Mr.  Longfellow’s 
reputation  as  a singer.  The  verse,  as  we  have  said, 
and  proved  by  extract,  is  sweet  and  simple,  is  full  of 
local  and  national  color,  has  a tone  and  ring  of  its 
own : in  a word,  the  story  of  ‘ Hiawatha  ’ is  the  poet’s 
most  original  production.” 

“ Mr.  Longfellow’s  reputation,”  said  “ The  London 
Examiner,”  “ will,  we  think,  be  raised  by  ‘ The  Song 
of  Hiawatha  : ’ it  is  by  far,  in  our  judgment,  the  most 
original  of  all  his  productions.” 

A French  writer  in  “ The  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  ” pronounced  “ Hiawatha  ” to  be  “ the  most 
finished  poem  Longfellow  has  produced.”  Of  the 
metre  he  said,  — 

“ The  melody  of  the  verse,  rapid  and  monotonous, 
is  like  the' voice  of  nature,  which  never  fatigues  us, 
though  continually  repeating  the  same  sound.  Two 
or  three  notes  compose  the  whole  music  of  the  poem, 


327 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.” 

melodious  and  limited  as  the  song  of  a bird.”  De- 
scribing the  general  character  of  “ Hiawatha,”  he 
says,  “ The  feeling  for  nature  that  pervades  the 
poem  is  at  once  most  refined  and  most  familiar. 
The  poet  knows  how  to  give,  as  a modern,  voices  to 
all  the  inanimate  objects  of  nature ; he  knows  the 
language  of  the  birds,  he  understands  the  murmur 
of  the  wind  amongst  the  leaves,  he  interprets  the 
voices  of  the  running  streams ; and  yet,  notwithstand- 
ing this  poetic  subtlety,  he  never  turns  aside  to 
minute  descriptions,  nor  attempts  to  prolong,  by 
reflection,  the  emotion  excited.  His  poem,  made 
with  exquisite  art,  has  thus  a double  character : it  is 
Homeric  from  the  precision,  simplicity,  and  familiar- 
ity of  its  images,  and  modern  from  the  vivacity  of  its 
impressions,  and  from  the  lyrical  spirit  that  breathes 
in  every  page.” 

It  was  to  be  expected  that  a poem,  written  in  such 
a peculiar  measure,  would  have  many  imitations  and 
parodies.  The  most  famous  of  these  parodies  ap- 
peared in  “ The  London  Punch,”  and  from  it  the  fol- 
lowing selection  is  here  inserted ; — 

“ Should  you  ask  me,  what’s  its  nature  ? 

Ask  me,  what’s  the  kind  of  poem? 

Ask  me  in  respectful  language. 

Touching  your  respectful  beaver. 

Kicking  back  your  manly  hind-leg, 

Like  to  one  who  sees  his  betters ; 

I should  answer,  I should  tell  you, 

’Tis  a poem  in  this  metre. 

And  embalming  the  traditions, 

Fables,  rites,  and  superstitions,  \ 

Legends,  charms,  and  ceremonials 


328 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Of  the  various  tribes  of  Indians, 

From  the  land  of  the  Ojibways, 

From  the  land  of  the  Dacotahs, 

From  the  mountains,  moors,  and  fenlands. 

Where  the  heron,  the  Shuh-shuh-gar, 

Finds  its  sugar  in  the  rushes  : 

From  the  fast-decaying  nations. 

Which  our  gentle  Uncle  Samuel 
Is  improving  very  smartly. 

From  the  face  of  all  creation. 

Off  the  face  of  all  creation. 

Should  you  ask  me,  by  what  story. 

By  what  action,  plot,  or  fiction. 

All  these  matters  are  connected  ? 

1 should  answer,  I should  tell  you. 

Go  to  Bogue  and  buy  the  poem. 

Published,  neatly,  at  one  shilling. 

Published,  sweetly,  at  five  shillings.” 

So  popular  soon  became  the  poem  among  all 
classes  of  readers,  that  ere  long  the  names  “Minne- 
haha” and  “Hiawatha”  became  catch-words.  Many 
new-born  lasses  were  christened  from  the  former,  and 
many  an  agile  bark  sailed  seaward  with  the  latter 
flaming  in  letters  of  gold  from  its  quarter-deck.  In 
a Boston  paper,  printed  at  that  time,  appears  the  fol- 
lowing local  item  : “ The  beautiful  three-decked  ship 
‘ Minnehaha  ’ — named  from  the  heroine  of  Longfel- 
low’s charming  poem  of  ‘ Hiawatha,’  — was  most 
successfully  launched  about  noon  on  Saturday  last, 
from  Donald  McKay’s  yard  at  East  Boston.  The 
occasion  was  one  of  unusual  interest,  and  attracted  a 
very  large  concourse  of  people,  who  rent  the  air  with 
their  huzzas  as  ‘ The  Minnehaha  ’ gracefully  glided 
into  the  ‘ laughing  waters,’  her  namesake.” 


329 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.” 

In  a speech  delivered  by  Mr.  John  Bright  at  Man- 
chester, England,  he  commented  on  the  effect  of  the 
then  late  war  upon  all  departments  of  English  effort, 
and  of  its  influence  on  the  tone  of  English  poetry, 
and  contrasted  Tennyson’s  “ War-Lyrics  ” with  Long- 
fellow’s “ Hiawatha.”  He  said,  “ I have  had  the 
I opportunity  lately  of  reading  a poem  from  another 
' country,  written  by  the  American  poet  Longfellow 
[applause],  a poem  which  treats  of  the  legends  of  the 
Indian  tribes;  and  while  I have  turned  from  the 
poem  of  our  poet-laureate,  in  which  I And  him  de- 
scending to  slang  of  almost  the  grossest  character,  I 
turn  with  delight  to  the  exquisite  poem  which  has 
come  to  us  from  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.” 

Cardinal  Wiseman,  in  one  of  his  famous  lectures, 
once  remarked,  “ He  was  a true  philosopher  who 
said,  ‘ Let  me  make  the  songs  of  a nation,  and  I care 
not  who  makes  its  laws.’  ” He  had  previously  al- 
luded to  the  absence  in  English  literature  of  a poet 
of  the  people,  and  went  on  to  say,  “ There  is  one 
writer  who  approaches  nearer  than  any  other  to  this 
standard,  and  he  has  already  gained  such  a hold  on 
our  hearts  that  it  is  almost  unnecessary  for  me  to 
mention  his  name.  Our  hemisphere  cannot  claim 
the  honor  of  having  brought  him  forth ; but  still  he 
belongs  to  us,  for  his  works  have  become  as  house- 
hold words  wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken. 
And  whether  we  are  charmed  by  his  imagery,  or 
soothed  by  his  melodious  versification,  or  elevated 
by  the  high  moral  teachings  of  his  pure  muse,  or 
follow  with  sympathizing  hearts  the  wanderings  of 
Evangeline,  I am  sure  that  all  who  hear  my  voice  will 


330 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


join  with  me  in  the  tribute  I desire  to  pay  to  the 
genius  of  Longfellow.” 

Lilt  the  cardinal,  endowed  as  he  seemed  often  to 
have  been  with  the  gift  of  prophetic  vision,  could 
hardly  have  foreseen  that  “ Longfellow’s  poetry 
would  ere  long  be  used  by  a ruler  as  an  instrument 
to  pacify  a people  for  whom  the  tlireatenings  of  the 
law  had  but  few  terrors.”  The  following  incident  is 
worthy  of  repetition  : — 

During  the  free-soil  demonstration  in  Kansas,  Act- 
ing-Governor Stanton  paid  a visit  to  the  citizens  of 
Lawrence,  where  he  made  a speech  on  some  of  the 
questions  then  uppermost  in  the  public  mind.  Some 
of  his  remarks  failed  to  accord  with  the  peculiar  views 
cherished  by  a large  proportion  of  his  auditors,  who 
gave  token  of  their  disapprobation  in  the  strongest 
manner  possible.  At  the  close  of  his  address,  and 
when  it  seemed  as  if  a riot  was  imminent,  Mr.  Stan- 
ton pictured  in  glowing  language  the  Indian  tradi- 
tion of  “ Hiawatha,”  of  the  peace-pipe,  “shaped  and 
fashioned  ” by  “ Gitche  Manito,  the  mighty,”  and  by 
which  he  “ called  the  tribes  of  men  together,”  and 
then  continued,  — 

“ I have  given  you  lands  to  hunt  in, 

I have  given  you  streams  to  fish  in, 

I have  given  you  bear  and  bison, 

I have  given  you  roe  and  reindeer, 

I have  given  you  brant  and  beaver, 

Filled  the  marshes  full  of  wild-fowl. 

Filled  the  rivers  full  of  fishes  ; 

Why  then  are  you  not  contented  ? 

AVhy  then  will  you  hunt  each  other  ? 


THE  PERIOD  OF  “HIAWATHA.”  331 

I am  weary  of  your  quarrels, 

Weary  of  your  wars  and  bloodshed, 

Weary  of  your  prayers  for  vengeance. 

Of  your  wrangliug’s  and  dissensions; 

All  your  strength  is  in  your  union. 

All  your  danger  is  in  discord ; 

Therefore  be  at  peace  henceforward. 

And  as  brothers  live  together.” 


The  recital  of  these  stirring  lines  was  more  potent 
for  good  than  the  ringing  eloquence  of  the  orator, 
the  listening  crowd  was  affected  by  them,  and  the  mad 
murmurs  that  were  heard  only  a few  moments  before 
were  now  supplanted  by  an  involuntary  outburst  of 
welcome  and  applause. 

The  popularity  of  “ The  Song  of  Hiawatha  ” is 
still  further  attested  by  its  rapid  sale  at  the  period  of 
its  publication.  In  less  than  four  weeks,  ten  thou- 
sand copies  had  been  disposed  of  in  this  country 
alone ; and  up  to  the  first  of  April,  1857,  the  sales 
had  been  increased  to  upwards  of  fifty  thousand.  I 
have  no  means  of  knowing  how  many  copies  were 
sold  in  England,  as  several  publishers  vied  with  each 
other  in  popularizing  the  work.  Probably  the  de- 
mand for  the  poem  was  not  less  than  it  was  in  this 
country;  for  on  either  side  of  the  water  there  was 
no  poet  living  at  that  time,  nor  since,  who  made 
even  a distant  approach  to  Longfellow’s  popularity. 
By  all  classes  the  poet  was  sought  and  admired : in 
the  palaces  of  sovereigns,  in  the  parlors  of  the  rich, 
in  the  humble  abodes  of  the  poor,  might  an  edition 
of  Longfellow  be  found.  Quotations  from  the  poems 
were  frequently  made  in  the  pulpit,  in  journals,  and 
by  public  speakers. 


332 


HENllY  WADSWORTPI  LONGFELLOW. 


“ I do  not  know  a more  enviable  reputation,” 
wrote  Miss  Mitford  in  1851,  “ than  Professor  Long- 
fellow has  won  for  himself  in  this  country,  — won, 
too,  with  a rapidity  seldom  experienced  by  our  native 
poets.  The  terseness  of  diction  and  force  of  thought 
delight  the  old,  the  grace  and  melody  enchant  the 
young,  the  unaffected  and  all-pervading  piety  satis- 
fies the  serious,  and  a certain  slight  touch  of  mysti- 
cism carries  the  imaginative  reader  fairly  off  his  feet.” 
These  words  were  but  the  expression  of  every  one 
who  had  learned  to  appreciate  the  quiet,  pensive 
thought,  — the  twilight  of  the  mind,  in  which  the 
little  facts  of  life  are  saddened  in  view  of  their  rela- 
tion to  the  eternal  laws,  time,  and  change,  — this  is 
the  meditation  and  mourning  of  every  manly  heart, 
and  this  is  the  alluring  and  permanent  charm  of 
Longfellow’s  poetry. 


YEAKS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL. 


333 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

YEARS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL.  , 

(1866-1869.) 

IT  has  already  been  observed  that  Mr.  Longfellow 
was  a generous  contributor  to  the  pages  of  Amer- 
ican periodical  literature.  To  “ The  United-States 
Literary  Gazette,”  “ The  New-England  Magazine,” 
“The  Knickerbocker,”  “Graham’s  Magazine,”  “The 
New  World,”  and  to  “Putnam’s  Magazine,”  he  sent 
many  of  his  most  delightful  productions.  Not  one 
of  these  periodicals,  however,  ever  succeeded  in  win- 
ning so  much  from  his  pen  as  did  “ The  Atlantic 
Monthly,”  which  was  established  in  1857.  The  pub- 
lishers of  “ The  Atlantic  Monthly  ” started  off  with 
the  determination  of  enlisting  the  best  efforts  of  the 
best  writers  on  the  continent.  At  a dinner  given  by 
the  publishers,  Messrs.  Phillips,  Sampson,  & Co.,  of 
Boston,  the  new  idea  was  discussed  ; and  the  assist- 
ance of  such  brain-workers  as  Longfellow,  Holmes, 
Whittier,  Emerson,  Prescott,  Norton,  Quincy,  and  a 
host  of  others,  was  cheerfully  pledged.  So  notable 
a literary  gathering  of  minds  harmoniously  attuned 
to  the  necessities  of  the  hour  was  probably  never 
held  in  this  country.  Mr.  Lowell  was  chosen  to  fill 
the  position  of  editor-in-chief.  For  many  years 
afterwards,  it  continued  to  be  a custom  for  the  staff 


334 


HENKY  AVADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


of  cMlitors  and  writers  to  meet  at  a monthly  dinner, 
which  was  given  usually  at  “ Parker’s.” 

Tlie  first  poem  contributed  by  Mr.  Longfellow  to 
“ The  Atlantic  Montlily  ” was  entitled  “ Santa  Filo- 
mena,”  which  appeared  in  the  initial  number.  From 
1854  to  1876  he  contributed  forty-hve  poems,  all  of 
which  have  since  been  gathered  into  his  collected 
works.  From  1876  onwards,  his  poems  appeared 
with  less  regularity  in  the  pages  of  the  magazine  ; 
and  the  publishers  of  other  periodicals  absorbed 
several  of  his  best  pieces,  thus  breaking  that  con- 
tinuity of  attachment  which  he  had  always  exhibited 
towards  “ The  Atlantic  Monthly.” 

In  the  year  1858  Mr.  Longfellow  published  a 
narrative  poem  entitled  “ The  Courtship  of  Miles 
Standish.”  ^ Like  “ Evangeline,”  it  was  thoroughly 
American,  and  at  once  became  popular.  But  it  can- 
not be  said  that  it  possesses  equal  merit  as  a poetical 
composition.  In  this  poem,  as  in  many  others,  we 
discern  that  Mr.  Longfellow’s  weakness  lies  not  far 
from  his  strength ; that  he  felicitously  expresses  the 
feelings  and  thoughts  common  to  all,  but  does  not 
possess  that  passion  by  which  supreme  lyrists  depict 
the  high  tides  of  emotion.  He  never  sings  under  the 
irrepressible  impulse  of  some  burning  affection,  some 
impassioned  preference.  The  same,  or  nearly  the 
same,  may  be  said  of  Wordsworth ; and  that  is  one  rea- 
son why  he  must  be  held  to  be  essentially  feebler,  as  a 
lyrist,  than  such  poets  as  Schiller,  Goethe,  and  Burns. 

1 The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish,  and  other  Poems.  By  Henry 
Wadsworth  Longfellow.  Boston  ; Ticknor  & Fields,  1858.  [IGmo, 
pp.  215.] 


YEARS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL. 


335 


Longfellow  does  not  actually  go  wrong  in  his  treat- 
ment of  love.  His  perfect  delicacy,  his  careful  and 
exact  observation,  keep  him  from  false  raptures  and 
affected  agonies.  But  it  is  one  thing  not  to  go 
wrong  in  the  delineation  of  love,  and  another  to  be 
positively  right.  Let  us  see. 

In  the  poem  under  consideration,  John  Alden 
loVes  Priscilla,  and  Priscilla  loves  John ; but  they 
have  never  said  so  to  each  other,  and  no  one  knows 
the  state  of  their  feelings.  It  occurs  to  Capt.  Miles 
Standish  that  Priscilla  would  suit  him  as  a wife ; and 
he  asks  his  friend,  John  Alden,  to  propose  to  her  on 
his  behalf.  But  John  does  not  fancy  such  a mission, 
but  nevertheless  tells  the  maiden  what  he  has  been 
directed  to  tell. 

“Mute  with  amazement  and  sorrow,  Priscilla  the  Puritan  maiden 
Looked  into  Alden’s  face,  her  eyes  dilated  with  wonder. 

Feeling  his  words  like  a blow,  that  stunned  her  and  rendered 
her  speechless  ; 

Till  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the  ominous  silence : 

‘ If  the  great  Captain  of  Plymouth  is  so  very  eager  to  wed  me. 
Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the  trouble  to  woo  me? 
If  I am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I surely  am  not  worth  the  win- 
ning ! ' 

Then  John  Alden  began  explaining  and  smoothing  the  matter. 
Making  it  worse  as  he  went,  by  saying  the  Captain  was  busy,  — 
Had  no  time  for  such  things ; — such  things  ! the  words  grating 
harshly 

Fell  on  the  ear  of  Priscilla;  and  swift  as  a flash  she  made 
answer : 

‘ Has  no  time  for  such  things,  as  you  call  it,  before  he  is  married. 
Would  he  be  likely  to  find  it,  or  make  it,  after  the  wedding  V 
That  is  the  way  with  you  men ; you  don’t  understand  us,  you 
cannot. 


336 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


When  you  have  made  up  your  minds,  after  thinking  of  this 
one  and  that  one, 

Choosing,  selecting,  rejecting,  comparing  one  with  another, 
Then  you  make  known  your  desire,  with  abrupt  and  sudden 
avowal. 

And  are  offended  and  hurt,  and  indignant  perhaps,  that  a 
woman 

Does  not  respond  at  once  to  a love  that  she  never  suspected, 
Does  not  attain  at  a bound  the  height  to  which  you  have  been 
climbing. 

This  is  not  right  nor  Just:  for  surely  a woman’s  affection 
Is  not  a thing  to  be  asked  for,  and  had  for  only  the  asking. 
When  one  is  truly  in  love,  one  not  only  says  it,  but  shows  it. 
Had  he  but  waited  a while,  had  he  only  showed  that  he  loved  me. 
Even  this  Captain  of  yours  — who  knows  ? — at  last  might 
have  won  me, 

Old  and  rough  as  he  is ; but  now  it  never  can  happen.’ 

Still  John  Alden  went  on,  unheeding  the  words  of  Priscilla, 
Urging  the  suit  of  his  friend,  explaining,  persuading,  ex- 
panding ; 

Spoke  of  his  courage  and  skill,  and  of  all  his  battles  in 
Flanders, 

How  with  the  people  of  God  he  had  chosen  to  suffer  affliction, 
How,  in  return  for  his  zeal,  they  had  made  him  Captain  of 
Plymouth ; 

He  was  a gentleman  born,  could  trace  his  pedigree  plainly 
Back  to  Hugh  Standish  of  Duxbury  Hall,  in  Lancashire, 
England, 

Who  was  the  son  of  Ralph,  and  the  grandson  of  Thurston  de 
Standish ; 

Heir  unto  vast  estates,  of  which  he  was  basely  defrauded. 

Still  bore  the  family  arms,  and  had  for  his  crest  a cock  argent 
Combed  and  wattled  gules,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  blazon. 

He  was  a man  of  honor,  of  noble  and  generous  nature ; 

Though  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly ; she  knew  how  during 
the  winter 

He  had  attended  the  sick,  with  a hand  as  gentle  as  woman’s ; 


YEARS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL. 


337 


Somewhat  hasty  and  liot,  he  could  not  deny  it,  and  headstrong, 
Stern  as  a soldier  might  be,  but  hearty,  and  placable  always, 
Not  to  be  laughed  at  and  scorned,  because  he  was  little  of 
stature ; 

For  he  was  great  of  heart,  magnanimous,  courtly,  courageous. 
Any  woman  in  Plymouth,  nay,  any  woman  in  England, 

Might  be  happy  and  proud  to  be  called  the  wife  of  Miles 
Standish  ! 

But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple  and  eloquent 
language. 

Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of  his  rival. 
Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  overrunning  with 
laughter. 

Said,  in  a tremulous  voice,  ‘ Why  don’t  you  speak  for  yourself, 
John  ? ’ ’’ 

Now,  this  is  very  graceful  and  pretty ; indeed,  if  it 
were  the  prelude  to  a climax  of  true  passion-paint- 
ing, it  would  be  unsurpassed.  The  mistake  lies 
liere  : the  poet  cares  more  for  the  descriptive  portions 
of  his  work  — in  particular,  more  for  Standish’s  expe- 
dition to  the  Indian  camp — than  for  the  affairs  of  the 
two  lovers.  While  it  must  be  confessed  that  “ The 
Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  ” is  Longfellow’s  best 
love-poem,  still  one  is  forced  to  believe  that  it  is  not 
a love-poem  of  consummate  character,  when  it  is 
contrasted  with  other  love-poems,  as,  for  example, 
with  Goethe’s  “ Hermann  and  Dorothea,”  where  the 
love  of  the  hero  and  heroine  draws  into  its  burning 
heart  every  other  topic  in  the  piece. 

Falling  short  in  passion,  Mr.  Longfellow  necessa- 
rily failed  in  the  drama ; for,  as  compared  with  his 
lyrical  and  narrative  poetry,  his  dramatic  efforts  are 
of  little  value.  The  criticism  holds  as  true  to-day 
as  in  the  year  when  “ The  Spanish  Student  ” was 


338 


IlKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


published,  that  he  insensibly  glides  into  narrative 
even  when  employing  dramatie  forms;  and  his  heroes 
and  heroines  regale  eaeh  other  with  elaborate  de- 
seriptions  of  mountains  and  skies.  We  see  the  same 
fault  in  “ The  Golden  Legend.”  The  eharaeter  of 
Elsie  is  charming,  and  exhibits  the  poet  at  his  best; 
but  Lucifer  is  the  most  innocent  fiend  that  ever 
talked  platitudes  in  blank  verse. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Tuesday,  July  9,  1861,  a sad 
accident  befell  Mrs.  Longfellow.  While  she  was 
sitting  at  her  library -table  making  seals  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  her  two  youngest  cliildren,  a bit  of  burn- 
ing wax  slipped  from  her  hands  and  fell  into  her  lap. 
Immediately  her  dress,  of  light  gauze  texture,  caught 
fire ; and  the  lady  was  soon  enveloped  in  flames.  Mr. 
Longfellow,  at  the  time,  was  at  work  in  his  study, 
and  heard  the  piercing  cry  of  his  unfortunate  wife. 
Rushing  from  the  room,  he  picked  up  a mat  or  rug, 
and  succeeded  in  smothering  the  merciless  flames, 
not,  however,  before  he  had  himself  received  serious 
injuries,  and  too  late  to  prevent  a fatal  result. 

As  soon  as  })ossible,  Drs.  Wyman  and  Johnson 
were  sent  for,  and,  still  later,  Dr.  Henry  J.  Bigelow 
of  Boston.  Every  thing  that  surgical  skill  could 
devise  was  at  once  brought  into  requisition.  Both 
patients  were  kept  under  the  influence  of  ether 
through  the  night.  On  Wednesday  morning  Mrs. 
Longfellow  rallied  a little,  and  the  family  and  friends 
ventured  to  hope  that  the  worst  might  be  averted. 
Not  long  afterwards,  however,  a change  took  place  ; 
and  at  eleven  o’clock  in  the  forenoon  tlie  gifted  and 
devoted  wife  was  by  death  released  from  her  suffer- 


YEARS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL. 


309 


ing.  Mr.  Longfellow’s  injuries  were  painful  but  not 
dangerous. 

The  death  of  Mrs.  Longfellow  was  a shock  to  all 
who  were  so  fortunate  as  to  be  intimate  with  her. 
Her  rare  gifts  of  intellect,  her  brilliant  and  ever 
amiable  manners,  her  gentle  disposition,  and  her 
almost  queenly  grace,  had  rendered  her  most  dear  to 
all  her  friends;  and  she  had  always  been  looked  upon 
as  the  most  worthy  mistress  of  the  old  Craigie  man- 
sion. Mr.  Longfellow  was  almost  crazed  by  his  be- 
reavement ; indeed,  the  effects  of  the  shock  never 
fully  wore  away,  and  caused  him  to  grow  old  rapidly. 
And  yet  he  bore  his  sorrow  with  a maidiness  that 
well  befitted  the  author  of  “ The  Psalm  of  Life.’’ 
He  made  his  grief  wholly  personal,  and  tried,  though 
vainly,  to  conceal  its  poignancy  beneath  his  wonted 
cheerfulness  and  apparent  forgetfulness  of  self.  “ I 
never  heard  Mr.  Longfellow  allude  more  than  once  to 
his  affliction,”  said  an  intimate  friend.  “We  were 
speaking  about  Schiller’s  fine  poem,  ‘ The  Ring  of 
Polycrates  ; ’ and  he  remarked,  ‘ It  was  just  so  with 
me,  — I was  too  happy.  I might  fancy  the  gods 
envied  me,  if  I could  fancy  heathen  gods.’  ” 

For  nearly  twenty  years  the  second  marriage  of  Mr. 
Longfellow  was  blessed  with  unalloyed  happiness. 
Five  children  sprang  from  the  union,  — two  sons  and 
tliree  daughters.  The  elder  son,  Charles  Appleton, 
served  as  a lieutenant  in  the  First  Massachusetts 
Cavalry  during  the  late  American  civil  war,  and  was 
severely  wounded  in  the  Mine-run  campaign  in  Vir- 
ginia, in  1863,  and  since  that  time  has  distinguished 
liimself  as  an  extensive  traveller  and  expert  yachts- 


340 


1IP:NIIY  WADSWOllTH  LONGFELLOW. 


man.  He  is  unmarried,  and  has  always  made  his 
liome  with  his  father  at  the  Craigie  House.  Ernest 
Wadsworth,  tlie  younger  son,  married  a Cambridge 
lad}s  and  lives  in  Cambridge,  on  Brattle  Street.  He 
has  achieved  a reputation  as  a painstaking  and  con- 
scientious artist,  and  his  work  is  often  seen  at  the 
art  exhibitions.  Of  the  daughters,  Alice  M.  is  the 
eldest,  and  Annie  Allegra  is  the  youngest.  Both 
are  scholarly  in  their  tastes,  and  have  accomplished 
something  in  the  way  of  literary  work.  The  second 
daughter  is  married  to  Richard  H.  Dana,  3d,  the  son 
of  the  author  of  “Two  Years  Before  the  Mast.” 
They  have  two  children,  — a son  and  a daughter. 

Several  years  before  the  death  of  Mrs.  Longfellow, 
the  three  daughters  of  the  poet  were  painted  in  a 
group  by  the  late  Thomas  Buchanan  Read,  the  emi- 
nent artist  and  poet.  The  picture  has  been  copied 
by  photography,  and  thousands  of  impressions  have 
been  scattered.  In  this  picture  the  position  of  the 
youngest  daughter  was  such  that  many  persons  erro- 
neously got  the  idea  that  she  was  deprived  of  arms, 
and  not  a few  ludicrous  anecdotes  have  originated 
from  such  a belief.  One  day  Mr.  Lowell,  while  rid- 
ing in  a Cambridge  horse-car,  overheard  one  woman 
repeating  to  another  the  story  of  the  armless  child. 
“ My  dear  woman,”  said  the  younger  poet  gently, 
“you  are  greatly  mistaken.  I am  an  intimate  friend 
of  the  family,  and  I know  that  the  facts  are  not  as 
you  represent.”  The  woman  showed  a little  bra- 
vado, and  replied,  with  the  air  of  one  not  willing  to 
be  set  right,  “ I have  it,  sir,  from  a lady  who  got  it 
from  a member  of  the  family.” 


YEAliS  OF  ADVEKSITY  AND  TOIL. 


341 


The  sad  death  of  Mrs.  Longfellow  was  followed 
by  that  of  her  father,  Mr.  Nathan  Appleton,  on  the 
14th  of  July.  Mr.  Appleton  was  one  of  the  most 
eminent  and  successful  merchants  of  the  city  of 
Boston.  He  was  born  in  New  Ipswich,  N.H.,  Oct.  6, 
1779,  and  was  educated  at  the  academy  in  his  native 
town.  He  entered  Dartmouth  College  in  1794,  but 
did  not  graduate.  In  1795  he  went  to  Boston,  and, 
with  his  brother,  founded  a prosperous  commercial 
business.  He  early  became  satisfied  that  the  time 
was  ripe  for  the  manufacturing  of  print  goods  in  this 
country ; and  accordingly,  in  company  with  Patrick 
T.  Jackson  and  Kirk  Boott,  he  purchased  the  water- 
power at  Pawtucket  Falls,  on  the  Merrimack  River, 
and  the  land  adjacent,  on  which  the  city  of  Lowell 
now  stands.  In  1830  iMr.  Appleton  represented,  as 
the  candidate  of  the  tariff  party,  the  Suffolk  district 
of  Massachusetts  in  Congress,  and  remained  through 
the  twenty-second  Congress.  In  1842  he  was  also 
chosen  to  fill  the  vacancy  in  Congress  occasioned  by 
the  resignation  of  Mr.  Winthrop. 

Mr.  Appleton  amassed  a large  fortune,  of  wliich 
he  made  noble  use,  giving  freely  to  institutions  of 
learning  and  of  charity.  He  was  twice  married: 
first,  to  Maria  Theresa  Gould  of  Pittsfield,  Mass., 
by  whom  he  had  four  children,  — Thomas  G.,  a gradu- 
ate of  Harvard  College  in  1831,  and  now  a resident 
of  Boston,  where  he  is  known  as  an  amateur  artist 
and  critic;  Mary,  who  became  the  wife  of  Mr. 
Mackintosh,  son  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  governor 
of  one  of  the  British  West  India  islands;  Charles  S., 
who  died  young ; and  Frances  Elizabeth,  who  became 


842 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


tlie  wife  of  Henry  W.  ]R)ngfellow.  His  first  wife 
(lied  in  1833;  and  in  1839  lie  married  Harriet  (f 
Sumner,  a cousin  of  Charles  Sumner,  by  whom  lie 
liad  two  sons  and  one  daughter. 

Several  of  the  poems  which  Mr.  Longfellow  pub- 
lished in  ‘‘The  Atlantic  Monthly”  were,  in  1863, 
gathered  together,  and  printed  in  a volume  bearing 
the  title  of  “ Tales  of  a Wayside  Inn.”  ^ The  series 
reminds  one  of  Chaucer's  “ Canterbury  Tales,”  and 
now  and  then  a little  of  “ The  Decameron.”  Tlie 
“ inn  ” where  the  guests  recite  their  tales  of  varied 
worth  and  interest  is  an  old  hostelry,  still  standing, 
in  Sudbury,  Mass.,  long  known  as  “ Howe’s  Tavern.” 
Hither,  for  many  summers,  the  story-tellers  were  wont 
to  resort,  seeking  a change  from  the  sweltering  heat 
and  east  winds  of  Boston  and  Cambridge.  The  poet 
does  not  give  his  readers  to  understand  who  were 
these  story-tellers,  but  doubtless  many  persons  have 
wished  to  know.  The  landlord  was  Ljunan  Howe 
of  Sudbury;  the  student,  Henry  Wales  of  Boston; 
the  Spanish  Jew,  Edulei  of  Boston ; the  Sicilian, 
Professor  Luigi  Monti  of  Boston  ; the  musician.  Ole 
Bull  of  Norway ; the  theologian.  Professor  Tread- 
well ; and  the  poet,  Thomas  William  Parsons. 

A second  series  of  “Tales  of  a Wayside  Inn  ” ap- 
peared in  1872,  and  a third  in  1873,  in  the  volume 
entitled  “ Aftermath.”  ^ The  same  scene  and  charac- 
ters are  maintained  through  the  whole  series. 

On  the  19th  of  May,  1864,  Hawthorne  passed 

1 Tales  of  a Wayside  Inn.  By  Henry  W.  Longfellow.  Boston  : 
Ticknor  & Fields,  18G3. 

2 Aftermath.  By  Henry  W.  Longfellow.  Boston  : Fields,  Os- 
good, & Co.,  1873. 


YEAKS  OF  ADVEESITY  AND  TOIL. 


343 


from  the  living.  Five  days  later  his  remains  were 
borne  to  Concord  and  consigned  to  “ Sleepy  Hol- 
low,” the  beautiful  cemetery  where  he  had  been 
wont  to  walk  among  the  pines.  On  the  day  of  the 


Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

funeral,  Longfellow  and  Lowell  and  Holmes,  and 
Emerson  and  Agassiz  and  Channing  and  Pierce,  and 
other  friends,  assembled  to  take  a last  look.  Return- 
ing home,  the  poet  wrote  that  beautiful  poem,  which 


344 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


one  never  tires  of  reading.  It  is  called  “ Haw- 
thorne,” and  of  it  two  stanzas  must  here  be  given : — 

“Now  1 look  back,  and  meadow,  manse,  and  stream 
Dindy  my  thought  defines; 

I only  see  — a dream  within  a dream  — 

The  hill-top  hearsed  with  pines. 


Ah ! who  shall  lift  that  wand  of  magic  power, 

And  the  lost  clew  regain  ? 

The  unfinished  window  in  Aladdin’s  tower 
Unfinished  must  remain  ! ” 

This  poem  with  others  was  published  in  1864  in  a 
small  volume  entitled  “ Flower-de-Luce.”  ^ The 
most  notable  pieces  in  the  collection  are  The  Bells 
of  Lynn,”  “Noel,”  and  “Killed  at  the  Ford.” 

An  able  writer  has  said,  that  when  Mr.  Browning 
published  “ Dramatic  Lyrics,”  or  Mr.  Tennyson 
the  “Idyls  of  the  King,”  the  title  of  the'  book 
showed  to  what  kind  of  poetry  the  author  thought 
its  contents  belonged.  But  when  Mr.  Longfellow 
brought  forward  his  “ New-England  Tragedies,”  ^ in 
1868,  his  readers  at  once  understood  the  themes, 
rather  than  the  poet’s  manner  of  unfolding  them, 
from  the  title  alone.  These  themes,  too,  were  felici- 
tous ; and  the  poet  was  certainly  far  enough  removed 
in  knowledge  and  in  customs  from  the  periods  of  the 
persecutions  of  the  Quakers  and  of  the  witchcraft 

1 Flower-de-Luce,  and  other  Poems.  By  Henry  W.  Longfellow. 
Boston  : Ticknor  & Fields,  1864. 

2 The  New-England  Tragedies.  By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfel- 

low. I.  John  Endicott.  II.  Giles  Corey  of  the  Salem  Farms.  Bos- 
ton: Fields,  Osgood,  & Co.,  1868.  [12mo,  pp.  179.] 


YEARS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL. 


345 


delusion,  to  see  and  depict  the  situation  without 
prejudice. 

The  volume  contained  two  plays  of  simple  struc- 
ture, and  written  in  language  so  plain  as  almost  to 
appear  prosy.  The  first  play,  entitled  “ John  Endi- 
cott,”  deals  with  the  early  persecution  of  the  Quakers 
ill  New  England  with  a kindness  and  fair-minded- 
ness not  often  exhibited  even  by  our  most  intelligent 
liistorians.  He  who  reads  it,  in  the  spirit  in  which 
the  story  is  related,  will  “ be  gladder  for  the  troubled 
governor  at  his  escape  by  death  from  the  bitter  war- 
' fare  of  heart  and  mind  than  at  the  escape  of  the 
Quakers  from  merely  bodily  pain  by  the  ending  of 
the  persecution.” 


“ He  breathes  no  more  ! How  bright  this  signet  ring 
Glitters  upon  his  hand,  where  he  has  worn  it 
Through  such  long  years  of  trouble,  as  if  Death 
Had  given  him  this  memento  of  affection, 

And  whispered  in  his  ear,  ‘ Kemember  me  ! ’ 

How  placid  and  how  quiet  is  his  face. 

Now  that  the  struggle  and  the  strife  are  ended ! 

Only  the  acrid  spirit  of  the  times 
Corroded  this  true  steel.  Oh,  rest  in  peace, 

Courageous  heart ! Forever  rest  in  peace  ! ” 

In  “ Giles  Corey  of  the  Salem  Farms,”  once  the 
note  of  genuine  tragedy  is  touched.  It  is  the  idea 
that  jiride  goeth  before  a fall. 

“ The  Lord  hath  prospered  me.  The  rising  sun 
Shines  on  my  hundred  acres  and  my  woods 
As  if  he  loved  them.  On  a morn  like  this 
I can  forgive  mine  enemies,  and  thank  God 
For  all  his  goodness  unto  me  and  mine. 


34G 


HKNRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


My  orchard  groans  witli  russets  and  pearrnains; 

My  ripening  corn  shines  golden  in  the  sun  ; 

My  barns  are  crammed  with  hay ; my  cattle  thrive ; 

The  birds  sing  blithely  on  the  trees  around  me ; 

And  blither  than  the  birds  my  heart  within  me! 

But  Satan  still  goes  np  and  dov\m  the  earth ; 

And  to  })rotect  this  house  from  his  assaults, 

And  keep  the  powers  of  darkness  from  my  door, 

This  horseshoe  will  I nail  upon  the  threshold. 

There,  ye  night-hags  and  witches  that  torment 
The  neighborhood,  ye  shall  not  enter  here!  ” 

On  the  twenty-seventh  day  of  May,  1868,  Mr. 
Longfellow  sailed  in  the  steamer  “ Russia  on  a third 
visit  to  Europe.  Before  he  left  Boston,  he  was  enter- 
tained at  dinner  by  a select  gathering  of  friends, 
among  whom  were  Fields,  Whittier,  Lowell,  and 
Holmes.  The  last  named  read  an  original  poem, 
which  opened  as  follows  : — 

“ Our  poet,  who  has  taught  the  western  breeze 
To  waft  his  songs  before  him  o’er  the  seas. 

Will  find  them  wheresoe’er  his  wanderings  reach 

Borne  on  the  spreading  tide  of  English  speech 

Twin  with  the  rhythmic  waves  that  kiss  the  farthest  beach.” 

The  voyage  was  a speedy  and  a pleasant  one,  and 
the  poet  arrived  in  England  about  the  middle  of 
June.  On  Tuesday,  the  16th  inst.,  during  the  reci- 
tation of  the  prize  exercises  at  the  university  of  Cam- 
bridge, it  was  proposed  to  confer  the  degree  of 
honorary  doctor  of  laws  upon  Mr.  Longfellow.  The 
floor  of  the  Senate  House  was  crowded  by  all  who  had 
the  privilege  of  admittance  : and,  it  being  a “ scarlet 
day,”  a most  brilliant  display  was  presented.  The 
undergraduates  thronged  the  galleries,  and  favored 


YEARS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL. 


347 


the  poet  with  a literal  triumph.  The  vice-chancellor 
presided  ; and,  shortly  after  two  o’clock,  Mr.  Longfel- 
low entered  upon  the  dais  amid  cheering  from  the 
galleries  again  and  again  renewed.  There  Avas  but 
very  little  of  the  interruption  from  the  galleries  that 
usually  takes  place  on  similar  occasions.  The  pub- 
lic orator  presented  Mr.  Longfellow  for  his  degree, 
a Latin  oration  was  made  in  honor  of  the  poet,  and 
the  latter  then  received  his  degree.  Afterwards, 
the  poet  sat  down,  and  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes 
till  tlie  close  of  the  proceedings. 

In  commenting  on  this  interesting  event,  the 
London  “ Daily  News  ” said,  “ It  is  in  its  interna- 
tional aspect  that  we  rejoice  at  the  public  honor  done 
to  Mr.  Longfellow.  Familiar  as  his  name  is  in  the 
mouths  of  the  people,  among  us  he  represents  his 
country.  Such  men  come  among  us  on  unofficial 
embassies  of  peace  and  friendship  and  good  will. 
Their  visits  multiply  the  ties  which,  as  kindred  peo- 
ples, bind  us  together.  Our  tendency  is  more  and 
more  to  cultivate  our  relationship  to  the  progressive 
and  expanding  West-  Our  language,  our  literature, 
and  our  race  have  a great  future  here  and  a great 
future  there.  Mr.  Longfellow  represents  the  pro- 
found unity  of  sympathy,  of  liome  feeling,  and  of 
moral  aspiration  which  there  is  between  us.  That 
we  can  each  be  represented  by  the  same  poet,  and 
feel  that  the  same  lyrics  express  our  feelings  and 
move  our  hearts,  is  a strong  tie  of  international 
sympathy.” 

During  his  stay  in  England  Mr.  Longfellow  paid 
a visit  to  Stratford-on-Avon,  the  home  of  Shak- 


848 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


speare,  and  went  over  the  principal  places  of  interest, 
lie  received  an  invitation  from  tlie  members  of  the 
University  Club  of  Edinburgh  to  dine  with  them,  but 
was  compelled  to  forego  tlie  lionor.  On  July  4 
he  went  to  Windsor  Castle,  and  had  tlie  honor  of  an 
interview  with  tlie  queen.  Later  in  the  day,  her 
Majesty  remarked  to  Theodore  Martin  (the  biogra- 
pher of  Prince  Albert),  who  had  come  to  the  castle, 
I wished  for  you  this  morning,  for  3^11  would 
have  seen  something  that  would  have  delighted  jon 
as  a man  of  letters.  The  American  poet  Longfellow 
has  been  here.  I noticed  an  unusual  interest  amoim 

O 

the  attendants  and  servants.  I could  scarcely  credit 
that  they  so  generally  understood  who  lie  was. 
When  he  took  leave,  they  concealed  themselves  in 
places  from  which  the}’  could  get  a good  look  at  him 
as  he  passed.  I have  since  inquired  among  them, 
and  am  surprised  and  pleased  to  find  that  many  of 
his  poems  are  familiar  to  them.  No  other  distin- 
guished person  has  come  here  that  has  excited  so 
peculiar  an  interest.  Such  poets  wear  a crown  that 
is  imperishable.” 

The  following  beautiful  poem  of  “ Welcome,”  writ- 
ten by  Mr.  Charles  Kent  (not,  as  commonl}^  reported, 
b}^  Charles  Kingsley),  appeared  in  “The  London 
Times : ” — 

“Welcome  to  England,  thou  whose  strains  prolong 
The  glorious  bead-roll  of  our  Saxon  song : 

Ambassador  and  pilgrim-bard  in  one, 

Fresh  from  thy  home,  — the  home  of  Washington. 

On  hearths  as  sacred  as  thine  own,  here  stands 
The  loving  welcome  that  thy  name  commands: 


YEARS  OF  ADVERSITY  AND  TOIL. 


349 


Hearths  swept  for  thee  and  garnished  as  a shrine 
By  trailing  garments  of  thy  mnse  divine. 

Poet  of  nature  and  of  nations,  know 
Thy  fair  fame  spans  the  ocean  like  a bow, 

Born  from  the  rain  that  falls  into  each  life, 
Kindled  by  dreams  with  loveliest  fancies  rife  : 

A radiant  arch  that  with  prismatic  dyes 
Links  the  two  worlds,  its  keystone  in  the  skies'.” 


It  would  serve  no  useful  purpose  to  enumerate  all 
the  honors  that  were  lavishly  showered  upon  the 
poet.  For  nearly  two  months  it  was  an  endless 
round  of  fetes  and  dinner-parties,  receptions  by 
learned  societies,  and  holiday  excursions.  Towards 
the  middle  of  July,  Mr.  Longfellow  visited  Tenny- 
son at  the  Isle-  of  Wight,  and  was  most  handsomely 
entertained.  Soon  afterwards  he  left  England  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  the  summer  on  the  borders 
of  the  Lake  of  Como.  From  thence  he  went  down 
into  Italy,  where  he  passed  the  winter  and  the  spring. 
On  returning  from  Italy,  Mr.  Longfellow  again  made 
a brief  stay  in  England;  and  in  July,  1869,  he  was 
at  the  university  of  Oxford,  where  he  received  the 
degree  of  J.C.D.  On  the  31st  of  August  he  returned 
home  to  this  country.. 

While  Mr.  Longfellow  was  in  England,  an  absurd 
story,  concocted  by  some  idle  gossiper,  gained  cur- 
rency both  liere  and  abroad.  It  was  to  the  effect, 
that,  on  the  occasion  of  an  earlier  visit  in  England, 
Mr.  Longfellow  had  called  at  Knebworth,  bearing 
a letter  of  introduction  to  Lord  Lytton,  then  Sir 
Edward  Bulwer,  and  by  the  latter  had  been  most 
insultingly  treated.  The  printed  canard  was  for- 


850 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


warded  to  Lord  T^ytton,  wlio  at  once  wrote  a commu- 
nication to  the  newspapers,  in  wliicli  lie  pronounced 
it  “an  impudent  falseliood  from  heginning  to  end.” 
Characterized  by  tlie  same  lack  of  veracity  were  the 
pretty  but  foolish  stories  which  a female  writer  in 
this  country  circulated,  some  years  ago,  relative  to 
Mr.  Longfellow’s  reception  at  Windsor  Castle.  The 
(]ueen  gave  the  poet  a generous  welcome,  but  in  no 
wise  compromised  the  dignity  of  her  station. 


Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  DANTE. 


351 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  TRANSLATION  OF  DANTE. 

(7867.) 

ON  the  6th  of  September,  1867,  George  Ticknor 
wrote  to  his  Majesty,  John,  King  of  Saxony,  as 
follows : — 

“ One  work,  which  of  late  has  much  interested  me, 

I took  the  liberty  of  sending  a few  days  ago  to  your 
Majesty,  as  something  you  may  not  be  sorry  to  see. 

It  is  the  translation  of  ‘ The  Divina  Commedia,’  re- 
cently published  here  by  our  well-known  poet,  Long- 
fellow. He  has  been  many  years  employed  on  it, 
— above  five  and  twenty  within  my  knowledge, — 
imposing  upon  himself  all  the  time  such  rigorous 
conditions,  that  I wonder  he  has  been  able  to  do  it 
at  all.  For  he  has  rendered  the  whole  poem  abso- 
lutely line  for  line,  making  each  line  express  exactly 
what  belongs  to  the  corresponding  line  in  the  original, 
— not  a particle  more,  not  a particle  less.  In  this  lie 
has  been  more  severe  with  himself  than  any  trans- 
lator of  Dante  known  to  me,  — more,  even,  than  your 
Majesty  has  been.” 

Mr.  Longfellow  began  his  translation  of  Dante  • 
during  the  early  years  of  his  Harvard  professorship. 
The  task  was  easily  suggested  to  him  by  his  practice 
of  reading  Dante  to  his  classes ; and  many  of  the 


852 


HENKY  WADSWORTH  F.ONGFEELOW. 


notes  which  he  promulgated  to  them,  and  which 
were  carefully  taken  down  by  the  students  in  their 
note-books,  are  still  retained,  almost  as  originally 
given,  in  the  [)oet's  translation.  Mr.  Ward  has 
given  us  a pleasant  reminiscence  of  the  way  in  which 
Longfellow  began  and  carried  on  his  version.  For 
many  years,  a few  minutes  in  the  early  morning, 
while  the  poet  was  waiting  for  his  coffee  to  boil, 
comprised  all  the  time  in  the  day  that  was  allotted 
to  the  work,  which  thus  went  on,  “ line  upon  line,’' 
until  the  whole  was  completed.  Then  it  became 
necessary  to  revise  the  sheets,  which  was  accom- 
jdished  with  the  aid  and  counsel  of  many  friends. 
Just  how  this  was  done  is  disclosed  by  the  following 
interesting  communication  written  by  Mr.  J.  H.  A. 
Bone  of  Cleveland,  O.  It  so  forcibly  delineates  the 
charming  features  of  the  Cabinet  Councils,”  that 
it  is  here  reproduced  entire. 

“ In  January,  1867,  I was  at  Cambridge,  Mass., 
spending  some  days  as  the  invited  guest  of  Professor 
James  Russell  Lowell  at  his  pleasant  home  of  Elm- 
wood. The  daylight  hours  were  mostly  passed  in 
delving  for  literary,  historical,  and  philological  facts 
among  the  mass  of  valuable  materials  in  the  Har- 
vard-College library,  and  the  evenings  in  talks,  con- 
tinuing far  into  the  night,  before  the  bright  wood- 
fire  in  Professor  Lowell’s  home  library,  on  topics 
suggested  by  the  day’s  work,  or  by  the  books  on  the 
open  shelves  around  us. 

“ The  presence  among  these  of  a number  of  vol- 
umes relating  to  Dante  turned  the  conversation  one 
evening  to  the  subject  of  a new  translation  of  ‘ The 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  DANTE. 


353 


Divine  Comedy,’  upon  which  I knew  Longfellow 
had  been  for  some  time  engaged,  and  which  Mr. 
Fields  had  told  me  a few  days  before  would  probably 
be  published  within  a few  months.  Professor  Low- 
ell said  he  had  himself,  }^ears  before,  conceived  the 
idea  of  translating  Dante’s  great  work,  and  had 
begun  a collection  of  Dantean  literature  for  that 
purpose,  but  had  abandoned  it  when  he  learned  that 
his  friend  Longfellow  had  formed  the  serious  pur- 
pose of  performing  the  work.  Mr.  Charles  Eliot 
Norton,  one  of  the  finest  of  Dantean  scholars,  had 
also  relinquished  a partially  formed  purpose  of  the 
same  character,  and  had  now  turned  his  attention  to 
the  translation  of  Dante’s  ‘ New  Life,’  which,  it 
may  be  remarked  in  passing,  w*as  published  later  in 
the  same  year.  Professor  Lowell  said  that  all  the 
Danteans  of  Cambridge  recognized  tlie  superior  fit- 
ness of  Longfellow  for  the  task,  and  had  cordially 
given  him  assistance  and  counsel  when  asked,  feel- 
ing pride  in  the  work.  On  tlie  other  hand.  Professor 
Ivongfellow  was  equally  cordial  and  frank  in  invit- 
ing their  aid  ; and  it  had  been  a custom  during  many 
months  for  the  select  circle  of  Danteans  to  meet  at 
Longfellow’s  house  on  Wednesday  evenings  to  listen 
to  the  poet’s  reading  of  his  translation  as  it  progressed, 
and  to  make  suggestions  concerning  it.  The  final 
revision  of  the  proof-sheets  was  then  going  on,  and 
the  Wednesday  evenings  were  devoted  to  the  last 
‘ Cabinet  Councils  ’ on  them  before  they  were  dis- 
missed for  publication. 

“ To  my  delight,  the  next  da}'  brought  me  a pleas- 
ant invitation  from  Professor  Longfellow  to  aocom- 


354 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


paiiy  Professor  Lowell  to  the  Dante  gathering  that 
evening,  and  to  attend  these  meetings  as  long  as  I 
remained  at  Cambridge.  It  was,  of  course,  accepted  , 
and  in  the  evening  we  walked  through  the  snow  to 
the  well-known  Longfellow  home,  and  were  met  at 
the  door  by  the  poet  himself,  who  had  from  the 
window  seen  us  approaching.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  repeat  the  description  of  Longfellow’s  appearance, 
and  his  kindly  courtesy  of  manner,  which  has  be- 
come familiar  to  every  one.  He  was  then  approach- 
ing his  sixtieth  birthday,  but  his  white  hair  and 
beard  gave  him  a patriarchal  appearance  more  in 
keeping  with  twenty  years  greater  age.  That  was, 
however,  the  only  sign  of  advanced  years.  His 
complexion  was  fresh,  his  eyes  softly  bright,  and 
his  manner  so  courteous  and  winning,  that  the 
question  of  real  or  apparent  age  was  at  once  for- 
gotten. The  visitor  felt  himself  at  ease  immediately, 
as  if  he  had  always  belonged  to  the  inner  circle 
of  the  poet’s  friends ; and  the  secret  of  the  strong 
affection  felt  toward  Longfellow  by  his  literary 
neighbors  — and  some  might  think  rivals  — was  ex- 
plained. 

“After  a few  minutes’  pleasant  conversation  in 
the  poet’s  well-appointed  study,  James  T.  Fields, 
the  poet’s  publisher,  and  who  was  also  a poet-pub- 
lisher, walked  briskly  up  the  snowy  path  from  the 
old-fashioned  gateway,  and  was  warmly  greeted. 
William  D.  Howells,  then  assistant  editor  of  ‘The 
Atlantic  Monthly,’  and  a great  favorite  with  both 
the  older  Cambridge  poets,  quickly  followed.  There 
was  a lively  conversation  for  a short  time,  a remark 


Longfellow's  Study  from  1844. 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  DANTE. 


355 


concerning  the  unusual  absence  of  Charles  Eliot 
Norton,  — ‘snowed  in,’  some  one  suggested, — and 
then  Longfellow,  glancing  at  the  clock,  said  ‘ School- 
time  ! ’ Each  of  the  visitors  was  handed  a- copy  of 
Dante  in  the  original,  with  which  to  follow  the 
translation  as  read  from  the  printed  sheets.  I 
pleaded  my  insufficient  acquaintance  with  the  Ital- 
ian, but  the  ‘ schoolmaster  ’ would  not  let  me  off 
thus.  ‘ All  scholars  must  work,’  said  Longfellow  j 
and  he  handed  me  a volume  containing  a prose 
literal  translation,  with  the  injunction  that  any 
marked  difference  in  the  rendering  of  a word  or 
construing  the  sense  of  a passage  must  be  noted,  if 
a doubt  as  to  its  propriety  arose.  Then  all  settled 
down  to  close  study. 

“ As  a preliminary,  Longfellow  took  from  a drawer 
the  sheets  which  had  been  passed  upon  at  the  pre- 
vious meeting,  and  on  which  he  had  noted  the  sug- 
gestions, objections,  and  doubts  of  the  ‘ scholars  ’ 
made  at  that  time.  These  had  all  been  carefully 
considered,  some  amendments  accepted,  others  re- 
jected, and  the  doubtful  passages  thoroughly  exam- 
ined. Where  the  translator  still  preferred  his  own 
rendition  to  that  suggested  by  his  critics,  he  gave 
his  reasons  for  that  action.  This  done,  the  sheets 
were  replaced,  the  new  set  taken  up,  and  the  poet 
began  reading  the  lines  slowly,  and  at  the  same  time 
watchful  of  any  indication  of  dissent  or  doubt  on  the 
part  of  his  hearers. 

“The  reading  commenced  with  Canto  XIII.  of 
the  ‘ Inferno,’  where  Dante  and  his  guide  enter  the 
marvellous  wood. 


JIKNUY  WADSWOUTH  LONGFELLOW. 


‘“Not  foliage  green,  but  of  a dusky  color, 

Not  branches  smooth,  but  gnarled  and  intertangled. 

Not  apple-trees  were  there,  but  thorns  with  poison.’ 

“ The  reading  continued  without  interruption  until 
the  thirtieth  line  was  reached. 

“‘Therefore  the  Master  said,  “ If  thou  break  off 
Some  little  spray  from  any  of  those  trees. 

The  thoughts  thou  hast  will  wholly  be  made  vain.’ 

‘‘  The  last  line  is  one  of  the  well-known  difficul- 
ties of  the  translators  of  Dante.  In  the  orignial  it 
stands,  — 

“ ‘ Se  tu  tronchi 

Qualche  fraschetta  d’una  d’este  piante, 

Li  pensier  ch’  hai  si  faraii  tutti  inonchi.’ 

“ Cary  renders  it  thus  : — 

“ ‘ If  thou  lop  off 

A single  twig  from  one  of  those  ill  plants 

The  thought  thou  hast  conceived  shall  vanish  quite.’ 

“ It  is  thought  the  passage  remains  imperfect  and 
defective  in  the  original  text,  hence  the  difficulty  of 
translation.  Longfellow  appeared  to  be  not  quite 
satisfied  with  his  rendering,  and  invited  suggestions 
of  improvement;  but  tliese  were  hesitatingly  given. 
All  the  suggested  emendations  were  noted  for  after 
consideration,  and  the  reading  continued.  Some- 
times one  of  the  listeners  checked  the  reader  to 
interpose  a question  or  a doubt ; at  other  times  the 
poet  himself  stopped  to  explain  the  reason  for  his 
selection  of  a word.  In  either  case  discussion  gen- 
erally followed,  authorities  were  examined  and  cited  ; 
and  after  all  the  information  obtainable  had  been 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  DANTE. 


357 


brought  out,  and  the  net  result  noted  on  the  margin 
of  the  proof,  the  reading  was  resumed. 

“ One  stop  was  at  the  incident  of  the  shades  of 
the  unfortunate  Lano  of  Sienna  and  Jacopo  of  San 
Andrea  rushing  through  the  ghastly  wood,  chased 
by  ‘black  she-mastiffs,  ravenous,  and  swift  of  foot  as 
greyhounds  who  are  issuing  from  the  chain,’  the 
ghosts  — 

“ ‘ Naked  and  scratched,  fleeing  so  furiously 
That  of  the  forest  every  fan  they  broke. 

He  who  was  in  the  advance,  “ Now,  help.  Death,  help  ! ” ’ 

“ A question  was  raised  as  to  the  exact  meaning 
in  that  connection  of  ‘ accorri.'  Dante  says  the  fore- 
most of  the  fleeing  shapes  cried,  ‘ Ora  accorrU  accorri 
morte.’’  Cary,  with  some  other  translators,  renders 
the  word  in  its  sense  of  haste. 

“ ‘ Haste  noM^,’  the  foremost  cried,  ‘ now  haste  thee.  Death  ! ’ 

“ After  some  discussion,  Longfellow’s  choice  of 
meaning  was  approved,  and  the  line  retained  with- 
out change.  The  fourteenth  canto  was  read  with 
fewer  interruptions.  One  of  these  was  at  the  pas- 
sage describing  the  rain  of  fire  upon  the  naked  spirits 
stretched  or  crouched  upon  the  burning  sand. 

“ ‘ Thus  was  descending  the  eternal  heat. 

Whereby  the  sand  was  set  on  fire,  like  tinder 
Beneath  the  steel,  for  doubling  of  the  dole.’ 

“ One  of  the  listeners  looked  up  quickly  as  if  to 
offer  a remark,  but  immediately  returned  to  the  open 
book.  Longfellow  noticed  the  movement,  and  inter- 
preted its  meaning.  ‘ I prefer  “ dole  ” to  “ suffering,” 
“ sorrow,”  or  “ sadness,”  ’ he  said,  ‘ because  it  is  more 


358 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


])oetic  in  this  place,  as  well  as  better  expressing  the 
exact  shade  of  meaning.  A poet’s  license  might 
well  be  pleaded  for  such  a word,’  he  added  with  a 
smile  ; ‘ although  our  friends,  the  dictionary-makers, 
mark  it  as  obsolete.’ 

“ ‘ Tennyson  uses  the  word,’  I ventured  to  remark. 

“ ‘ Tennyson  restores  to  literature  many  words 
that  are  under  the  ban  of  the  dictionary-makei’s  as 
obsolete,’  said  Fields ; ‘ and  the  use  to  which  he  puts 
them  justifies  the  act.  In  this  case  the  alliterative 
euphony  of  “doubling  of  the  dole  ” would  warrant 
stretching  a point  in  the  translation  if  that  were 
necessary.  But  the  propriety  of  adopting  the  word 
is  to  me  even  more  apparent  in  the  opening  lines  of 
the  third  canto.  How  perfectly  the  lines  — 

“ Per  me  si  va  iiella  citta  dolente, 

Per  me  si  va  iiell’  eterno  dolore 
Per  me  si  va  tra  la  perduta  gente  ” ’ — 

are  rendered  by 

u < u Through  me  the  way  is  to  the  city  dolent ; 

Through  me  the  way  is  to  eternal  dole ; 

Through  me  the  way  among  the  people  lost ; ” ’ 

and  how  poor  as  well  as  how  unliteral  Cary’s  ver- 
sion, — 

a 4 44  Through  me  you  pass  into  the  city  of  woe  ; 

Though  me  you  pass  into  eternal  pain ; 

Through  me  among  the  people  lost  for  aye.”  ’ 

“ ‘ Dole,  in  the  sense  of  pain,  mental  suffering, 
sadness,  or  sorrow,’  remarked  Lowell,  ‘was  a fre- 
quently used  and  expressive  word  in  the  hands  of 
Chaucer  and  Spenser  and  their  contemporaries,  and 


THE  THANSLATION  OF  DANTE. 


359 


did  not  disappear  until  after  Sliakspeare’s  time. 
The  dramatist  Ford  used  ‘dolent’  in  the  sense  of 
sad  and  sorrowful  in  his  play  of  ‘Perkin  Warbeck,’ 
where  the  ‘passionate  duke,’  after  a mishap,  is 
spoken  of  as  ‘ effeminately  dolent.’ 

“ At  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  canto  LongfelloAv 
dropped  the  last  sheet  into  an  open  drawer,  and  ris- 
ing, with  a light  laugh,  said,  ‘ Now,  gentlemen, 
school  is  over ; and  we  will  have  some  refreshment 
after  our  labors.’  The  books  were  closed ; and  the 
‘scholars’  adjourned  to  the  dining-room,  where  a 
supper,  charmingly  served,  was  in  waiting.  One  or 
two  other  guests  joined  the  circle  ; and  for  about  an 
hour  there  was  a lively  interchange  of  pleasant  chat, 
piquant  remarks,  and  gossipy  anecdotes.  The  host 
of  the  evening  was  not  talkative,  but  was  attentive 
to  every  one,  and  had  the  tact  to  keep  the  conversa- 
tion lively  and  general.  Mr.  Fields  had  brought 
some  interesting  bits  of  publishers’  gossip  out  from 
Boston  with  him,  which  afforded  material  for  com- 
ment and  pleasant  raillery.  A chance  allusion  to 
some  literary  work  in  progress  or  contemplation  by 
Mr.  Howells  brought  out  graceful  compliments  from 
both  Longfellow  and  Lowell,  of  which  any  young 
writer  might  well  be  proud.  IMr.  Longfellow  in- 
quired the  authorship  of  a recent  paper  in  ‘ Tlie 
Atlantic : ’ and,  upon  being  told  by  Fields  that  it  was 
a young  writer  of  New-York  City,  lie  was  strongly 
urged  by  Lowell  to  ‘ make  much  of  him,’  as  he  saw 
in  his  work  evidence  of  much  promise.  Fields  made 
a semi-humorous  complaint  that  Lowell,  as  editor  of 
‘The  North  American  Review,’  liad  savagely  cut  up  a 


360 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


})iograpliy  of  an  eminent  author  by  one  not  so  emi- 
nent, that  Fields  had  recently  published.  Lowell 
retorted,  in  equally  good-natured  banter,  that  Fields 
deserved  no  consideration  ; for  he  knew  better  than 
to  publish  a book  which  was  not  only  poor  in  itself, 
but  pernicious  in  that  it  stood  in  the  way  of  a better 
work  on  the  subject  being  made  hereafter.  Fields 
put  it  to  tlie  company  whether  it  was  treating  a 
publisher  fairly  to  make  his  own  periodical  destroy  the 
value  of  a book  published  by  himself.  ‘ I assure  you,’ 
he  exclaimed  in  a humorousl}^  aggrieved  tone,  ‘ that 
from  the  day  Lowell’s  article  appeared,  not  a single 
copy  of  the  book  has  been  sold.  I arraign  Lowell  as 
a murderer,  for  he  completely  killed  the  “ Life.”  ’ 

“ ‘ It  died  a-borning,  and  I but  hammered  the  nails 
into  its  coffin,’  replied  Lowell ; and  a general  laugh 
followed,  one  of  the  heartiest  laughers  being  the 
publisher. 

“Before  the  repast  was  ended,  one  of  Longfellow’s 
sons  came  in,  a slim  young  fellow,  full  of  boyish 
vivacity  and  ready  talk.  It  was  pleasant  to  note  the 
attention  paid  by  the  father  to  his  account  of  what 
he  had  been  doing,  and  how  he  had  enjoyed  himself 
during  the  visit  from  which  he  had  just  returned, 
and  the  interest  manifested  by  questions  he  put  to 
draw  the  young  man  out. 

“ All  pleasures  come  to  an  end  at  some  time.  The 
guests  rose,  prepared  themselves  for  the  wintry  night 
air ; and  after  a warm  hand-clasp,  and  cordial  invita- 
tion to  repeat  the  evening’s  experience,  each  took 
his  homeward  way.  In  my  case  it  was  towards 
Elmwood,  where,  in  front  of  the  bright  fire  of  blazing 


THE  TRANSLATION  OF  DANTE.  - 361 

logs  on  the  library-hearth,  I sat  until  nearly  one 
o’clock  in  the  morning,  discussing  Dante  and  his 
translators,  past  and  present,  or  rather  listening  in 
absorbed  attention  to  the  talk  on  the  subject  by 
Professor  Lowell,  as  he  smoked  his  pipe. 

“ Three  or  four  months  later  the  first  volume  of 
‘ The  Divine  Comedy,’  containing  the  ‘ Inferno,’  was 
published ; and  I prepared  a review  of  it.  A marked 
copy  was  sent  to  the  publishers,  as  customary.  Very 
soon  after,  I was  both  surprised  and  gratified  by  the 
receipt  of  the  following  letter,  which  is  given  exactly 
as  written,  with  the  peculiarity  of  punctuation  of  the 
original : — 

Cambridge,  May  14, 1867. 

My  dear  Sir,  I have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving 
the  Cleveland  Herald  containing  }"our  most  friendly  and 
sympathetic  notice  of  my  translation  of  the  Divine  Com- 
edy, and  I hasten  to  thank  you  for  your  great  kindness. 

The  notice  is  excellent,  bringing  forward  just  the  points 
I should  wish  to  have  touched  upon.  It  is  positive  and 
not  negative  ; and  will  not  fail  to  do  the  work  much  good. 

It  is  difficult  to  thank  one  for  praise  ; so  let  me  thank 
you  rather  for  telling  your  readers  what  I have  tried  to 
do,  and  how  far,  in  your  opinion,  I have  succeeded. 

Our  pleasant  Wednesday  evenings  are  now  ended,  for 
the  present  at  least ; but  I hope  in  the  autumn,  on  some 
pretext  or  other,  we  shall  begin  again  ; and  that  we  may 
once  more  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  among  us. 

Lowell  is  well ; and  we  are  urging  him  to  take  up  the 
Canzoni,  which  I really  hope  he  will  do. 

With  great  regard 

Yours  truly 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


J.  H.  A.  Bone,  Esq. 


302 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


The  translation  was  pnblislied  in  three  volumes 
in  1867,  by  Ticknor  and  Fields  of  Boston.  In  the 
.same  year,  Professor  Norton  published  his  version  of 
Dante’s  “Vita  Nuova,”  and  Mr.  T.  W.  Parsons  his 
translation  of  the  “ Inferno.”  Mr.  Longfellow’s  work 
was  hailed  with  admiration  by  all  scholars,  and  both 
at  home  and  abroad  was  regarded  tlie  best  translation 
of  Dante  in  the  English  language.  In  Cambridge, 
the  home  of  the  poet,  it  suggested  the  organization 
of  a Dante  society,  — the  first,  I believe,  on  this  conti- 
nent. The  first  meeting  was  held  on  Feb.  11,  1881; 
and,  at  a later  meeting,  Mr.  Longfellow  was  chosen 
president.  He  accepted  the  honor  on  condition  that 
no  duties  should  be  imposed  upon  him.  The  main 
object  of  the  Dante  Society  is,  to  establish  at  Har- 
vard College  a collection  of  Dantesque  literature ; 
and  one  of  the  minor  objects  is,  to  translate  such 
works  of  Dante  as  have  not  already  appeared  in 
English.  The  membership  of  the  society  numbers 
about  fifty. 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS. 


36a 


CHAPTER  XVI 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS. 


{1871-1881.) 


ERY  much  like  “The  Last  Tournament,”  of 


Mr.  Tennyson,  Mr.  Longfellow’s  “ Divine 
Tragedy,”  ^ published  in  1871,  is  part  of  a series  of 
poems.  It  was  the  poet’s  idea  to  write  a dramatic 
trilogy,  of  which  “ The  Divine  Tragedy  ” was  to  be 
the  first  part,  “ The  Golden  Legend  ” was  to  be  the 
second  part,  and  “ The  New-England  Tragedies 
the  concluding  part.  Of  the  last  two  parts  of  the 
trilogy  mention  has  been  previously  made  in  this 
work  ; and  little  more  remains  to  be  said  of  tliern, 
except  to  remark,  that,  in  the  light  of  “ The  Divine 
Tragedy,”  they  seem  to  gain  new  force  and  meaning. 

As  regards  “ The  Divine  Tragedy,”  it  is  simply 
the  life  of  Christ  told  by  a poet  in  blank  verse  very 
nearly  in  the  words  of  the  evangelists.  Perhaps 
most  persons  would  prefer  the  simple  gospel  narra- 
tive to  the  poetic  re-arrangement  of  the  same,  wliich 
is  truly  not  much  of  an  improvement  over  the 
former,  albeit  that  it  is  cliaracterized  by  much  grace, 
and  is  not  wanting  in  reverence.  A critic,  who  I 
presume  is  Mr.  Howells,  has  written,  “ The  reader,. 

1 Tlie  Divine  Tragedy.  By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
Boston:  J.  R.  Osgood  & Co.  1871.  [8vo,  pp.  313.] 


864  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

looking  back  upon  the  poem,  will  be  more  apt  to  do 
it  justice  tlian  at  the  first  glance.  Tlie  simplicity 
will  probably  have  seemed  bare  at  times ; and  the 
self-denial  which  has  rejected  from  the  dramatic  nar- 
rative all  non-scriptural  persons  and  incidents,  and 
has  so  sparingly  relieved  the  gospel  history  by  the 
invention  of  the  interludes,  may  have  been  felt  as  too 
severe.  A better  sense  of  the  poet’s  intention  ought 
to  remove  these  impressions ; and  revision  will  light 
up  the  many  points  at  which  it*  touches  the  life  of 
the  time,  such  as  Pilate’s  Roman  mystification  at  the 
strange  religion  of  the  Jews,  and  his  pagan  surprise 
at  their  intolerance.  . . . There  is  a peculiar  unrest 
in  the  poem,  which  lets  it  dwell  upon  no  fact  with 
extraordinary  fulness:  it  hastens  forward  to  the  most 
tragic  of  all  tragic  ends.  You  must  turn  back,  as 
we  have  said,  for  its  true  effects ; and  in  this  review 
you  will  most  enjoy  the  tender  and  vivid  passages 
in  it.” 

In  1872  “The  New-England  Tragedies,”  “The 
Golden  Legend,”  and  “ The  Divine  Tragedy  ” were 
published  in  one  volume,  under  the  title  of  “ Christus, 
a Mystery.”  For  some  unexplained  reason,  the  pub- 
lishers have  never  included  these  productions  in  the 
popular  and  complete  edition  of  Longfellow’s  poems. 

In  his  “ Three  Books  of  Song,”  ^ which  came  out 
in  the  summer  of  1872,  Mr.  Longfellow  again  ap- 
peared at  his  best.  The  volume  contained,  among 
other  pieces,  the  second  series  of  “Tales  of  a Way- 
side  Inn,”  which  in  many  respects  were  fully  as 

1 Tliree  Books  of  Song.  By  Henry  Wadswortli  Longfellow. 
Boston:  James  R.  Osgood  & Co.  1872.  [IG  mo,  pp.  204. J 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS. 


365 


readable  as  the  first  series.  In  The  Legend  Beauti- 
ful ” one  finds  a most  exquisite  embodiment  of  the 
poet’s  religious  sense,  and  it  is  impossible  to  read  it 
without  feeling  one’s  self  drawn  more  and  more 
closely  in  sympathy  with  its  author.  There  is  not, 
in  fact,  a single  piece  in  the  volume  Avhich  is  not 
thoroughly  gifted  with  a charm,  such  as  generations 
of  readers  have  learned  to  expect  from  whatever 
Mr.  Longfellow  chose  to  write : color,  harmony,  sim- 
plicity, sweetness,  beauty,  — all  of  these  qualities 
pervade  the  pages  of  what  one  is  tempted  to  pro- 
nounce the  best  book  of  the  poet’s  declining  years. 

During  the  summer  of  1873,  Mr.  Longfellow, 
accompanied  by  Charles  Sumner,  paid  his  first  visit 
to  the  old  Longfellow  homestead  in  Newbury,  Mass. 
He  Avent  thither  from  Nahant,  Avhere,  since  about 
1850,  he  Avas  accustomed  to  pass  the  heated  summer 
months.  After  vieAving  the  spot,  the  tAvo  friends 
AA^ere  the  guests  of  Ben:  Perley  Poore,  at  his  home 
at  Indian  Hill ; and,  Avhen  lunch  Avas  over  Avith,  the}' 
Avere  given  a ride  to  Amesbury,  Avhere  they  hoped  to 
see  Mr.  Whittier.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  poets, 
although  cherishing  for  each  other  the  kindest  re- 
gards, rarely  met.  As  far  back  as  1845,  however, 
they  had  become  acquainted.  Fortunately  Mr.  Whit- 
tier Avas  at  home,  and  in  his  simple,  easy,  and  unaf- 
fected manner,  receiA^ed  his  visitors  most  kindly. 
During  the  hour,  Mr.  Whittier  exhibited  an  anti- 
slavery document  Avhich  he  had  signed  forty  years 
before ; and  this  led  to  a pleasant  conversation  in 
regard  to  Avhat  the  three  men  had  done  to  advance 
the  cause  of  the  slave. 


366 


HF.NRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


In  the  autumn  of  1873  the  volume  called  “After- 
math  ” ^ was  })ublished.  It  contained  Part  Third  of 
“The  Tales  of  a Wayside  Inn,”  which,  like  the 
earlier  series,  were  simply  stories,  teaching  by  inci- 
<lent  and  character,  and  often  not  teaching  at  all. 
The  volume  also  contained  a few  shorter  poems, 
many  of  which  had  previously  appeared  in  “ The 
Atlantic  Monthly.”  One  of  the  most  striking  of 
these,  because  full  of  feeling,  was  that  entitled 
“Changed.”  If  possible,  however,  that  called  “Af- 
termath” was  more  lovely.  It  reads  as  follows:  — 

“ When  the  summer  fields  are  mown, 

When  the  birds  are  fledged  and  flown, 

And  the  dry  leaves  strew  the  path ; 

With  the  falling  of  the  snow, 

With  the  cawing  of  the  crow, 

Once  again  the  fields  we  mow 
And  gather  in  the  aftermath. 

Not  the  sweet,  new  grass  with  flowers 
Is  this  harvesting  of  ours; 

Not  the  upland  clover-bloom  ; 

But  the  rowen  mixed  with  weeds. 

Tangled  tufts  from  marsh  and  meads, 

Where  the  poppy  drops  its  seeds 
In  the  silence  and  the  gloom.” 

Something  of  the  spirit  and  movement  apparent 
in  several  of  ]\Ir.  Longfellow’s  earlier  poems  are 
reproduced  in  “ The  Challenge,”  “ The  Haunted 
(Chamber,”  and  “ The  Meeting.”  Of  the  tales,  that 
called  “ Scanderbeg,”  told  by  the  Spanish  Jew,  and 
“ The  Rhyme  of  Sir  Christopher,”  told  by  the  land- 

1 Aftermath.  By  H.  W.  Longfellow.  Boston;  J.  R.  Osgood  & 
Co.  1873. 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS. 


367 


lord,  are  thoroughly  in  the  style  of  their  author. 
The  theologian’s  tale,  called  “ Elizabeth,”  is  probably 
the  most  enjoyable  in  the  book. 

In  1874  appeared  “ The  Hanging  of  the  Crane,”  ^ 
a poem  which  was  suggested  to  Mr.  Longfellow  by 
the  old  French  custom  of  placing  that  now  obsolete 
contrivance  in  the  kitchen  chimney  of  a young 
couple  at  their  house-warming.  But  the  poem  “is 
really  a pensive  imagination  of  the  life  that  expands 
with  the  family  table,  as  the  children  come,  one  after 
another,  to  demand  its  enlargement,  and  that  con- 
tracts as  they  grow  up  and  pass  one  by  one  out  of 
the  old  home,  till  the  father  and  mother  sit  at  last 
as  they  sat  at  first,  and  face  each  other  across  the 
table  alone.” 

This  poem  originally  graced  the  columns  of  “ The 
New-York  Ledger,”  from  whose  editor,  we  are  told 
by  Mr.  Samuel  Ward,  Mr.  Longfellow  received  four 
thousand  dollars.  In  this  case,  evidently,  the  poet’s 
name  was  more  thought  of  than  the  poet’s  work ; for 
“The  Hanging  of  the  Crane”  is  neither  one  of  Mr. 
Longfellow’s  best,  nor  is  it  a great  poem  at  all.  Like 
the  “ Children,”  it  abounds  in  just  those  qualities 
which  please  the  popular  mind,  however ; and  even 
if  one  cannot  confess  to  finding  much  of  the  true 
poetic  feeling  in  the  stanzas,  one  is  somehow  greatly 
captivated  by  the  strains  of  alternate  playfulness 
and  sadness  which  are  delicately  interwoven  into 
them.  Perhaps  a single  word  will  best  characterize 
the  production,  — sweetness. 

1 The  Hanging  of  the  Crane.  By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 
With  illustrations.  Boston:  J.  K.  Osgood  &,  Co.  1874. 


3<i8  HKNRY  WADSWOimi  LOxNGKKLLOW. 

Ill  tlie  following  year  this  poem  re-appeared  in  a 
new  volume  entitled  “The  Mascpie  of  Pandora.”^ 
The  poem  which  gave  the  title  to  the  book  is  rather 
a })oetic  drama,  which  in  1880  Miss  Blanche  Roose- 
velt proposed  to  Mr.  Longfellow  to  have  produced 
upon  tlie  stage.  The  poem  was  then  recast ; a score 
was  Avritten  Mr.  Alfred  Cellier ; a company  was 
organized,  of  which  Miss  Roosevelt  assumed  the 
leading  role ; and  the  piece  was  put  upon  the  stage 
in  Boston,  in  January,  1880.  The  enterprise  proved 
a complete  failure,  as  all  good  judges  had  predicted, 
from  the  utter  lack  of  attraction  in  the  play  itself, 
and  the  mediocre  ability  of  those  who  took  part  in 
it.  It  was  said  at  the  time  that  Mr.  Loiigfellow  was 
considerably  out  of  pocket  by  the  transaction. 

In  the  same  volume  was  printed  the  poem  “ Mori- 
turi  Salutamus,”  several  minor  poems,  and  four- 
teen sonnets.  Of  the  sonnets,  those  entitled  “ Three 
Friends  of  Mine  ” are  undoubtedly  the  finest.  They 
refer  to  Summer,  Felton,  and  Agassiz.  Says  a 
graceful  critic,  “ There  are  few  more  touching  lines 
in  all  literature  than  those  that  close  the  sonnet  to 
Charles  Sumner : — 

“ ‘ Thou  hast  but  taken  thy  lamp  and  gone  to  bed ; 

I stay  a little  longer,  as  one  stays 
To  cover  up  the  embers  that  still  burn.’ 

“ Longfellow  is  wonderful  in  these  homely  felici- 
ties : reproach  him  as  you  please  for  excessive  har- 
moniousness,— a swan  overladen  with  song,  — there 

1 The  Masque  of  Pandora,  and  other  Poems.  By  Henry  Wads- 
worth Longfellow.  Boston : J.  R.  Osgood  & Co.  1875.  [1(5  mo,  pp. 

14().J 


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370 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  DONGFP]LLOW. 


Ill  the  following  year  death  came  and  took  away 
still  another  friend,  the  one  most  loved  and  most 
tenderly  welcomed  at  the  poet’s  home,  — Charles 


Chailes  Sumner. 

Sumner,  who  died  at  Washington  on  March  11, 1874. 

“Good-night!  good-night!  as  we  so  oft  have  said 
Beneath  this  roof  at  midnight,  in  the  days 
That  are  no  more,  and  shall  no  more  return.” 

At  the  time  of  his  decease,  Mr.  Sumner  was  em- 
ploying his  spare  hours  in  the  preparation  of  a com- 
plete edition  of  his  works,  which  liad  been  in  course 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS. 


371 


of  publication  since  1870. ^ Mr.  Sumner  lived  long 
enough  to  see  nine  volumes  in  print ; and  the  re- 
mainder of  the  work  was  carried  on  by  his  literary 
executors,  Messrs.  H.  W.  Jmngfellow,  F.  V.  Balch, 
and  E.  L.  Pierce,  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  Owen  and 
Mr.  George  Nichols,  both  of  Cambridge.  Messrs. 
Lee  and  Shepard  of  Boston  are  the  publishers  of  this 
monumental  enterprise,  which  will  easily  take  rank 
with  the  most  superb  series  of  books  of  modern  times. 
Tlie  series  is  now  completed  in  fifteen  elegant  crown 
octavo  volumes,  and  comprises  Mr.  Sumner’s  orations, 
senatorial  addresses,  letters  and  papers  through  his 
entire  public  career,  from  July,  1845,  until  the  period 
of  liis  death.  Tlie  matter  is  arranged  chronologically, 
and  with  the  author’s  latest  revisions.  No  literary 
enter[)rise  probably  ever  passed  through  more  careful 
and  conscientious  supervision,  and  no  grander  monu- 
ment was  ever  reared  to  the  memory  of  a true  and 
ru'ble  man. 

In  the  summer  of  1875,  all  but  two  of  the  surviv- 
ing members  of  the  Bowdoin  class  of  18:^5* — eleven 
in.  all  — again  met  at  Brunswick,  to  celebrate  the 
semi-centennial  of  the  class.  Mr.  Longfellow  was 
present,  and  read  his  marvellous  poem,  Morituri 
Sdlutamus,”  — perhaps  the  grandest  Inunii  to  age 
that  was  ever  written.”  The  poem  was  read  in 
the  church  meeting-house,  before  a large  audience. 
“ Though  we  are  at  present  apart,”  wrote  Dr.  Shepley 
afterwards,  “ and  months  have  elapsed,  we  often  seem 
to  ourselves,  even  now,  as  when  we  were  gathered 

1 The  Works  of  Charles  Suuiuer,  In  15  volumes.  lioston:  Lee 
& Shepard.  1S70-1882. 


372 


HP:NliY  WADSWOirm  LONOriiiLLOW. 


about  him,  to  be  still  standing  listening  to  the  words 
of  his  greeting,  — 

“ ‘ And  now,  niy  classmates  ; ye  remaining  few 
That  number  not  the  half  of  those  we  knew, 

Ye,  against  whose  familiar  names  not  yet 
The  fatal  asterisk  of  death  is  set,’  — 

And  with  thanks  we  accept,  as  for  our  use  especially, 
lines  kindly  furnished,  and  made  free  for  the  use  of 
all : — 

“ ‘ Be  that  sad  year,  O poet,  very  far 

That  proves  thee  mortal  by  the  little  star. 

Yet  since  thy  thoughts  live  daily  in  our  own, 

And  leave  no  heart  to  weep  or  smile  alone. 

Since  they  are  rooted  in  our  souls,  and  so 
Will  live  forever,  whither  those  shall  go. 

Though  some  late  asterisk  may  mark  thy  name. 

It  never  will  be  set  against  thy  fame. 

For  the  world’s  fervent  love  and  praise  of  thee 
Have  starred  it  first  with  immortality.’  ” 

Before  leaving  for  their  respective  homes,  the  small 
band  of  classmates  gathered  in  a retired  room  of  the 
college  for  the  last  time,  “talked  together  a half-hour  as 
of  old,  agreed  to  exchange  photographs,  and  prayed  to- 
gether.” And  then  came  the  separation  and  farewells. 

In  1875,  with  the  assistance  of  John  Owen,  Mr. 
Longfellow  began  to  edit  a collection  of  poems,  to 
Avhich  was  given  the  title  of  “ Poems  of  Places.”  ^ 
Although  the  collection  is  one  of  the  best  ever  made, 
and  well  deserves  a place  in  every  library,  the  public 
did  not  take  to  it ; and  the  sale  of  the  books  was 
very  meagre. 

Many  persons  have  doubtless  observed  that  each 

1 Poems  of  Places.  31  volumes.  Edited  by  H.  W.  Longfellow. 
Boston:  James  R.  Osgood  & Co.  1876-79. 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS. 


373 


succeeding  volume  of  Mr.  Longfellow  affords  evi- 
dences of  greater  simplicity  in  his  art  than  the 
preceding  volumes.  In  no  sense  could  the  term 
“exotic”  be  reasonably  applied^  to  his  later  produc- 
tions, which  are  invariably  characterized  by  a degree 


James  Russell  Lowell. 


of  freshness  almost  surprising.  In  the  volume  which 
he  published  in  1877  ^ were  included  a fiftli  flight  of 
“Birds  of  Passage,”  sixteen  poems  in  all,  and  among 
them  the  beautiful  tribute  to  James  Russell  Lowell, 


1 Kerainos,  and  other  Poems.  Boston.  1877. 


374 


IKXRV  WyVDSWOIlTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Longfellow  Jug. 


entitled  “The  Herons  of  Elmwood,”  a second  book 
of  sonnets,  and  fifteen  translations.  The  longest 
piece  in  tlie  volume  bore  the  title  of  “ Keramos ; ” 

and  the  leading  idea 
of  it  had  been  lurk- 
ing in  his  mind  for 
many  years,  — far 
back  to  his  early 
da}'S  in  Portland. 
At  the  time  when 
the  poem  appeared, 
the  public  were 
awakening  to  an  in- 
creased sense  and 
interest  in  the  fictile  art;  and  it  was  singularly 
opportune  that  Mr.  Longfellow  should  also  evince  a 
lively  sympathy  with  the  aesthetic  mood.  The  poem 
is  perfectly  natural  in  its  lines  and  contours  ; and, 
after  reading  it,  one 
feels  that  he  has  been 
listening  to  a con- 
noisseur's rapturous 
praises  without  be- 
ing bored  by  his 
critical  tediousness 
in  describing  quali- 
ties and  character- 
istics. 

It  was  this  beauti- 
ful production  wliich  gave  rise  to  the  now  famous 
“Longfellow  dug,”  the  story  of  whieh  is  interesting. 
For  many  a day  Mr.  Richard  Briggs,  the  well-known 


Longfellow  Jug. 


Elmwood.  — James  Russell  Lowell’s  Homs. 


1^ 

f 

[ >• 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS. 


375 


Boston  dealer  in  pottery  ware,  bad  desired  to  make 
something  of  this  sort ; so,  when  the  poem  was  first 
published,  Mr.  Briggs  went  personally  to  England, 
to  the  celebrated  works  of  Josiah  Wedgwood  & Sons, 
in  Staffordshire,  and  commissioned  them  to  make  a 
“Longfellow  Jug”  in  Wedgwood  ware. 

It  is  about  seven  inches  in  height,  and  is  broad, 
stout,  and  capacious.  It  holds,  when  filled  to  the 
brim,  about  five  pints ; has  an  honest  handle  ; and  is, 
of  course,  of  the  usual  color  of  Wedgwood  ware. 
The  accompanying  pictures  describe  it  much  better 
than  words.  The  jug  exhibits  two  panels,  one  pre- 
senting a most  admirable  portrait  of  Mr.  Longfellow, 
and  the  other  the  following  familiar  verse  from  the 
poem : — 

“ Turn,  turn,  my  wheel ! turn  round  and  round 
Without  a pause,  without  a sound : 

So  spins  the  flying  world  away  ! 

This  clay,  well  mixed  with  marl  and  sand, 

Follows  the  motion  of  my  hand  : 

For  some  must  follow,  and  some  command, 

Though  all  are  made  of  clay ! ” 

One  is  tempted  to  say  of  the  portrait,  that  it  is  one 
of  the  best,  if  not  the  best,  that  has  been  made  of 
the  poet.  The  remaining  decorations  of  the  jug 
comprise  scrolls  intertwined  witli  flowers,  on  which 
are  imprinted  the  titles  of  some  of  Mr.  Longfellow’s 
most  popular  poems : “ The  Golden  Legend,”  “ Hia- 
watha,” “ Evangeline,”  “ Psalm  of  Life,”  etc.  As  a 
specimen  of  art  production,  the  jng  is  certainly  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  desirable,  and  will  im- 
mensely please  all  lovers  of  Mr.  Longfellow’s  poetry. 


876 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


The  poet  liimself  knew  nothing  of  the  affair  until 
he  received  the  jug  itself.  He  tlien  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing characteristic  letter  to  Mr.  Briggs,  which 
thus  completes  the  story  : — 

Cambkidoe,  Dec  .‘50,  1880. 

]\Iv  DEAR  Sir, — Please  accept  my  thanks  for  the 
handsome  specimen  of  Wedgwood  ware  you  have  been 
kind  enough  to  send  me,  and  for  the  compliment  you  pay 
me  in  having  had  my  portrait  placed  ui)on  it,  with  some 
lines  of  mine  and  titles  of  my  poems. 

This  is  a very  i)leasant  and  very  welcome  New-Year’s 
gift;  and  you  have  kept  your  secret  so  well,  that  I have 
been  taken  quite  surprise. 

I l)cg  to  assure  you  that  I value  very  highly  this  mark 
of  your  consideration  and  regard. 

I am,  my  dear  sir. 

Yours  very  truly, 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

On  the  27th  of  February,  1879,  the  occasion  of 
the  seventy-second  birthday  of  the  poet,  the  children 
of  Cambridge  presented  him  with  an  arm-chair,  made 
from  the  wood  of  the  old  horse-chestnut  tree,  made 
famous  in  the  poem  of  “ The  Village  Blacksmith.” 
The  design  of  the  chair  is  admirable,  the  color  is  of 
a jet  black,  and  the  upholstering  is  in  green  leather. 
The  back  of  the  chair  is  carved  to  represent  horse- 
chestnut  leaves  and  blossoms,  and  the  same  style  of 
decoration  appears  at  other  points.  Around  the  seat, 
in  raised  German  text,  are  the  following  lines : — 


The  Children's  Chair. 


, i»  ' 

V 


t 


V, 


i2i.  ■'♦ 


■'  .■;  i 


*.  > 


V 


I ‘ 


> 


\ 


\'t  ■ 


K ■ 


;■%  , 

,',/•  jx: 


^«l 


vy 


'i 


THE  LAST  TEN  YEARS-  - 377 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 
Look  in  at  the  open  door : 

They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 

And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 
Like  chalf  from  a threshing-floor.” 

A brass  plate  beneath  the  cushion  bears  the  follow- 
ing inscription : To  the  author  of  ^ The  Village 

Blacksmith,’  this  chair,  made  from  the  wood  of  the 
spreading  chestnut-tree,  is  presented  as  an  expression 
of  grateful  regard  and  veneration  by  the  children  of 
Cambridge,  who  with  their  friends  join  in  the  best 
wishes  and  congratulations  on  this  anniversary.  Feb. 
27,  1879.” 

That  tender  and  touching  poem,  entitled  “ From 
My'  Arm-chair,”  was  Mr.  Longfellow’s  response  of 
gratitude  to  his  young  friends.  The  last  verses  are 
far  too  beautiful  not  to  be  given  here. 

“ And  thus,  dear  children,  have  ye  made  for  me 
This  day  a jubilee. 

And  to  my  more  than  threescore  years  and  ten 
Brought  back  my  youth  again. 

The  heart  hath  its  own  memory,  like  the  mind, 

And  in  it  are  enshrined 

The  precious  keepsakes,  into  which  is  wrought 
The  giver’s  loving  thought. 

Only  your  love  and  your  remembrance  could 
Give  life  to  this  dead  wood. 

And  make  these  branches,  leafless  now  so  long, 

Blossom  again  in  song.” 


378 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


CHAPTER  XVII, 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


(1877-1882.) 


IMMEDIATELY  after  the  death  of  Professor 


Agassiz,  in  December,  1873,  Mr.  Longfellow’s 
health  began  to  decline.  While  his  geniality  of  heart 
and  his  buoyant  spirits  never  failed  him,  it  was  plainly 
evident  to  all  who  came  in  contact  with  him  that  he 
was  slowly  losing  ground,  and  that  his  once  robust 
and  hardy  constitution  was  being  undermined. 
From  the  shock  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  his  beloved 
friend,  he  never  fully  recovered.  Still,  so  well  did 
he  conceal  his  sorrow  and  his  increasing  infirmity, 
only  those  who  were  in  dail}^  intercourse  with  him 
were  perhaps  aware  of  his  precarious  condition.  For 
several  years  previous,  he  had  been  a victim  of  neu- 
ralgia ; and  this  affliction  had  caused  him  great  suf- 
fering. Thenceforth  this  malady  attacked  him  more 
frequently,  with  narrower  intervals  of  cessation  , and 
occasionally  he  would  have  an  onset  of  vertigo,  or 
dizziness,  which  would  sometimes  last  for  several 
successive  days.  As  the  years  crept  on,  he  was  seen 
in  tlie  streets  of  Cambridge  less  often  than  formerly  : 
he  rarely  visited  any  place  of  amusement,  and  never 
except  on  some  special  occasion.  On  a fair  day. 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


379 


when  the  air  was  balmy,  he  would  stroll  off  on  a 
short  walk ; and  then  it  was  that  many  of  his  fel- 
low-citizens would  remark  that  the  poet  was  surely 
failing,  for  his  unsteady  gait,  his  anxious  step,  and 
his  changed  features,  were  apparent.  One  could 
never  forget  the  first  and  saddest  blow  which  had 
been  dealt  to  his  trusting  and  devoted  heart,  nor 
those  after-griefs,  the  taking  away  of  his  dearest 
friends  and  counsellors,  that  had  also  happened  to 
mar  his  happiness.  We  felt  for  him  as  we  feel  only 
towards  a brother : he  had  our  deepest  and  most  heart- 
felt sympathy,  and  we  made  his  sorrow  our  own. 
How  often,  as  we  beheld  him  threading  his  way 
along  some  quiet  by-path,  absorbed  in  his  own  medi- 
tations, have  those  sombre  lines  forced  themselves 
upon  the  mind  : — 

“ Into  the  Silent  Land  ! 

Ah  ! who  shall  lead  us  thither  ? 

Clouds  in  the  evening  sky  more  darkly  gather, 

And  shattered  wrecks  lie  thicker  on  the  strand.” 

In  1880  appeared  the  last  volume  of  poems  pre- 
pared by  Mr.  Longfellow.  It  bore  the  significant 
title,  “ Ultima  Thule.”  ^ It  contained,  among  other 
gems,  the  poem  entitled  ‘‘The  Iron  Pen,”  relating 
to  a pen  presented  to  the  poet  by  Miss  Hamlin  of 
Maine.  Not  less  beautiful  are  the  sonnet  poems. 
The  pen  was  made  from  a fetter  of  Bonnivard,  the 
prisoner  of  Chillon , the  handle  of  wood  from  the 
frigate  “ Constitution,”  and  bound  with  a circlet  of 
gold,  inset  with  three  precious  stones  from  Siberia, 
Ceylon,  and  Maine. 

1 Ultima  Thule.  Boston;  1880.  Houghton,  Mifflin,  & Co. 


380 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Dec.  28,  1880,  was  the  two  hmidred  and  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  tlie  settlement  of  Cambridge.  It  was 
celebrated  by  the  people  and  school-children  of  the 
city.  At  the  exercises  held  in  Sanders  Theatre  Mr. 
Longfellow  and  Dr.  O.  W.  Holmes  were  present,  and 
received  a genuine  ovation.  It  was  the  former’s  last 
appearance  in  public.  At  the  close  of  the  exercises, 
the  children  crowded  around  their  friend,  and  be- 
sought him  to  write  his  name  in  their  albums.  It 
was  a most  amusing  spectacle,  but  the  patience  of 
the  poet  was  inexhaustible.  Over  and  over  again  he 
wrote  his  autograph ; and  then,  when  he  could  write 
no  longer,  he  requested  all  who  had  not  received  his 
signature  to  come  to  his  home,  and  he  would  there 
favor  them.  Mr.  Longfellow  also  spoke  to  the  chil- 
dren the  following  brief  but  beautiful  address  : — 
“My  dear  Young  Friends,  — I do  not  rise  to 
make  an  address  to  you,  but  to  excuse  myself  from 
making  one.  I know  the  proverb  says,  that  he  who 
excuses  himself  accuses  himself,  — and  I am  willing 
on  this  occasion  to  accuse  myself;  for  I feel  very 
much  as  I suppose  some  of  you  do  when  you  are 
suddenly  called  upon  in  your  classroom,  and  are 
obliged  to  say  that  you  are  not  prepared.  I am  glad 
to  see  your  faces  and  to  hear  your  voices.  I am 
glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  thanking  you  in 
prose,  as  I have  already  done  in  verse,  for  the  beauti- 
ful present  you  made  me  some  two  }"ears  ago.  Per- 
haps some  of  you  have  forgotten  it,  but  I have  not : 
and  I am  afraid,  yes,  I am  afraid,  that  fifty  years 
hence,  when  you  celebrate  the  three  hundredth 
anniversary  of  this  occasion,  this  day  and  all  that 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


381- 


belongs  to  it  will  have  passed  from  your  memory ; 
for  an  English  philosopher  has  said,  that  the  ideas  as 
well  as  children  of  our  youth  often  die  before  us, 
and  our  minds  represent  to  us  those  tombs  to  which 
we  are  approaching,  where,  though  the  brass  and 
marble  remain,  yet  the  inscriptions  are  effaced  by 
time,  and  the  imagery  moulders  away.” 

During  the  summer  of  1881,  it  became  apparent 
to  his  family  and  friends  that  the  physical  condition 
of  Mr.  Longfellow  was  such  as  to  give  cause  for 
alarm.  Increasing  sickness  added  its  burden  rapidly 
to  the  weight  of  his  nearly  fourscore  years.  His 
walks  in  the  streets  were  gradually  diminished  in 
number,  and  from  this  time  forth  he  was  fre- 
quently admonished  by  his  physician  to  be  guarded 
in  whatever  bore  on  the  problem  of  his  health. 
When  the  winter  season  came  on,  he  began  to  fail 
even  more  rapidly ; and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  was  obliged  to  excuse  himself  to  the  many  callers 
at  his  home.  For  nearly  half  a century,  the  old 
Craigie  House  had  been  the  frame  of  the  poet’s  life 
and  the  workshop  of  his  genius;  and  from  thence 
volume  after  volume  of  verses  had  gone  forth  to  find 
their  way  to  the  hearts  of  men  from  Hudson’s  Bay 
to  the  shores  of  Australia.  Across  the  threshold  of 
its  homely  portal  had  passed  in  and  out  thousands 
of  strangers,  and  yet,  perhaps,  all  of  them  friends; 
and  invariably  had  they  been  received  with  the 
warmest  welcome.  Never  under  that  historical  roof- 
tree  had  the  cold  shoulder  been  turned,  even  upon 
the  individual  who  came  to  impose  on  the  good  na- 
ture of  the  host.  Never  had  the  door  been  closed 
to  man,  woman,  or  child. 


382 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


But  now,  alas ! the  times  were  changed.  Tired 
nature  demanded  rest,  even  against  the  will  of  the 
sufferer.  Nothing  pained  him  so  much  as  to  be 
under  the  necessity  of  excusing  himself  from  his 
friends,  and  more  than  once  he  remarked  that  it 
seemed  a terrible  discourtesy.  To  one  who  called  to 
see  him,  not  many  days  before  his  going  from  our 
midst,  but  was  not  allowed  an  interview,  Mr.  Long- 
fellow thus  wrote  : — 

“ I am  sorry  that  I could  not  have  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  you  when  you  did  me  the  honor  to  call 
upon  me.  But  I know  you  will  excuse  my  inability, 
when  I assure  you  that  I am  a great  sufferer  at  the 
present  time.  I know  not  whether  I shall  pull 
through,  but  I have  as  much  hope  as  had  the  old 
bishop  of  Salamanca.” 

And  to  another  friend  he  writes, — 

“ I am  fit  for  nothing  just  now,  not  even  to  com- 
plain. But  I am  trying  to  make  the  most  of  my 
idleness  — shall  I call  it  delicious?  — which  the 
present  condition  of  my  health  imposes  upon  me.” 
In  mid-winter  I sent  to  the  poet  by  messenger 
another  old  ballad  on  “ Lovewell’s  Fight ; ” and  in 
the  note  which  accompanied  it  I ventured  the  sug- 
gestion that  perhaps  it  might  be  the  one  which  we 
had  been  seeking  some  years  before,  for  it  contained 
the  verses  which  the  poet  had  always  carried  in  his 
memory,  namely, — 

“ ‘ I’ll  kill  you,  Chamberlain,*  quoth  he, 

‘And  scalp  you  when  you’re  dead.’  ” 

A few  days  later  came  the  poet’s  response,  writ- 
ten on  the  back  of  a card,  and  accompanied  by  a 


Drawing-Room  at  the  Longfellow  House. 


;y  ■ 


\ 


I l‘l 


LAST  illnp:ss  and  death. 


383 


small  volume  which  he  wished  me  to  examine.  It 
reads  as  follows  : — 

“ Not  yet.  But  you  are  indefatigable,  and  I know 
that  you  will  find  it.  When  you  next  write  to 

L , assure  him  that  I have  not  forgotten  his 

kindness.”  ^ 

Feb.  27, 1882,  the  seventy-fifth  birthday  of  the  poet 
was. generally  celebrated  all  over  the  country.  The 
children  of  the  public  schools  took  a large  part  in 
these  exercises,  and  appeared  to  vie  with  their  elders 
in  the  desire  to  honor  the  occasion.  In  Portland  the 
whole  people  took  the  matter  in  hand  to  tender  a 
public  reception  to  Mr.  Longfellow.  The  following 
correspondence  was  passed. 


Portland,  Jan.  10,  1882. 

My  dear  Sir,  — It  is  my  great  pleasure  to  enclose  to 
you  a copy  of  the  resolve  passed  unanimously  by  our  city 
council.  It  needs  no  assurance  on  my  part  that  it  will  be 
very  gratifying  to  your  numerous  friends  in  Portland  to 
greet  you  on  the  occasion.  The  reception  proposed  is 
to  be  plain  and  simple.  The  details  to  be  in  a manner 
agreeable  to  yourself. 

Hoping  to  receive  an  early  reply  of  acceptance, 

I am,  most  respectfully  yours, 

WILLIAM  SENTER,  Mayor. 

Professor  H.  W.  Longfellow. 

1 Allusion  is  here  made  to  Mr.  Lewis  of  Fryeburg,  Me.,  who 
kindly  sent  me  some  years  ago  a poem  on  the  Love  well  Fight,  which 
I gave  to  Mr.  Longfellow.  The  latter  once  told  me  that  he  had  an 
idea  of  writing  another  poem  on  the  subject.  I observe,  that,  in  a 
recently  published  brochure,  Mr.  Lewis  publishes  what  he  declares 
to  be  the  long-lost  ballad  which  Longfellow  wrote  in  his  early  days. 
But  it  is  not  the  poem. 


384 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


Cambridge,  Jan.  12,  1882. 

My  dear  Sir,  — I have  had  the  pleasure  of  receiving 
your  letter  with  its  enclosed  copy  of  the  resolutions  of 
tlic  city  authorities  of  Portland  in  reference  to  my  seventy- 
fifth  birtiiday.  I hasten  to  thank  you  and  them  for  the 
honor  conferred  upon  me.  I hardly  need  assure  you,  my 
dear  sir,  that  this  mark  of  consideration  from  my  native 
city  is  very  gratifying  to  me,  and  regret  extremely,  tliat, 
on  account  of  ill-health,  I am  forced  to  decline  the  public 
reception  offered  me.  My  physician  prescribed  absolute 
rest ; and  I do  not  see  any  chance  of  my  being  able  to  go 
to  Portland  in  February,  so  slow  is  recovery  from  nervous 
prostration. 

I am,  my  dear  sir,  with  great  regard. 

Yours  faithfully, 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

On  account  of  Mr.  Longfellow’s  inability  to  be 
present,  the  celebration  was  abandoned  by  the  city 
authorities.  Afterwards,  a meeting  of  the  Maine 
Historical  Society  was  called,  at  which  it  was  decided 
to  honor  the  day  by  appropriate  exercises.  At  the 
hour  appointed  for  the  exercises,  in  the  evening  of 
the  27th,  a large  audience  had  gathered.  In  the 
absence  of  the  president,  Hon.  W.  G.  Barrows  of 
Brunswick,  the  vice-president  of  the  society,  presided, 
and  opened  the  meeting  by  a suitable  introductory 
address.  On  motion,  the  following  telegram  was 
sent  to  the  poet : — 

Portland,  Feb.  27. 

To  H.  W.  Longfellow,  Camhridfje,  Mass. 

The  members  of  the  Maine  Historical  Society,  assem- 
bled with  friends  in  honor  of  your  seventy-fifth  birthday, 
send  greetings  and  congratulations. 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


385 


The  following  reply  was  soon  received : — 

Cambridge,  Feb.  27. 

H.  W.  Bryant,  Recording  Secretary. 

Your  telegram  received.  I return  cordial  thanks  to  the 
members  of  the  society,  and  am  grateful  for  this  signal 
mark  of  their  remembrance  and  regard. 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 

The  exercises  consisted  of  a poem,  entitled  “ Laiis 
Laureati,”  by  James  P.  Baxter,  Esq.,  of  Portland, 
and  interesting  historical  papers  by  Rev.  H.  S.  Bur- 
rage  and  E.  H.  Elwell,  Esq.,  and  Hon.  George  F. 
Talbot  of  Portland,  and  Hon.  William  Goold  of 
Windham,  and  Professor  A.  S.  Packard,  D.D.,  of 
Brunswick.  Altogether,  the  occasion  was  one  long 
to  be  remembered,  and  worthy  of  all  who  labored 
to  insure  its  success. 

The  fierce  winds  of  March  had  begun  to  blow  over 
the  meadows  along  the  Charles ; and,  as  the  clouds 
of  dust  arose  on  every  hand,  the  poet  looked  out  of 
his  study-windows,  and  queried  whether  it  Avere  safe 
to  pay  one  more  visit  to  that  friend  of  his  childhood 
and  of  his  old  age, — Mr.  John  Owen.  For  many 
years  back,  the  poet  and  his  faithful  ‘M.  O.”  had 
treasured  in  mind  the  recurring  anniversaries  of  the 
birthda}’s  of  each  other.  These  anniversaries  Avere 
ahvays  remembered  by  the  bestoAval  of  some  little 
token  of  tlieir  love  and  friendship ; and  the  time 
intervening  each  year  between  the  birthdays  was 
by  the  friends  called  their  “ honeymoon,”  for  then 
they  could  say  that  they  Avere  of  the  same  age. 

It  was  while  he  Avas  looking  out  of  the  window. 


^586  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

on  one  of  the  surl}^  l)lustering  days  of  the  early 
March,  that  the  poet  betliought  him  again  of  the 
pleasant  anniversary  which  he  had  himself  just 
passed,  and  of  that  forthcoming  anniversary,  which, 
if  it  should  please  God,  he  so  much  wished  to  cele- 
brate with  his  friend.  It  yet  lacked  about  three 
weeks  before  the  28th  of  March,  and  on  that  day 
Mr.  Owen  would  have  reached  his  seventy-sixth 
birthday.  It  was  not  a long  look  ahead  ; and  yet  the 
poet,  as  if  foreseeing  something  that  was  about  to 
happen,  chose  to  prepare  for  the  event  instead  of 
waiting  for  its  coming.  On  that  same  day  he  sent 
to  Mr.  Owen  a few  presents,  — he  knew  what  would 
be  most  appreciated,  — and  among  them  a bottle  of 
Falernian,  or  poet’s  wine.  On  tlie  label,  written  in 
ink,  was  the  familiar  inscription,  — “ H.  W.  L.  to 
J.  O.”  It  was  the  poet’s  intention  to  send  to  his  friend 
a sonnet  before  the  month  should  end  ; but,  alas  ! the 
opportunity  and  the  inspiration  never  came. 

On  Saturday,  the  18th  of  March,  Mr.  Longfellow 
received  his  last  visitors,  two  Boston  lads,  who  came 
to  Cambridge  by  the  express  invitation  of  the  poet. 
On  their  arrival  at  the  Craigie  House,  they  were 
treated  in  the  most  kindly  spirit,  were  shown  all  the 
objects  of  interest ; and  finally  each  bore  away  in  his 
little  album  the  autograph  of  their  friend,  and  the 
friend  of  ail  children.  The  recollection  of  that  visit 
will  ever  be  treasured  by  the  boys. 

After  his  child-visitors  had  gone,  the  poet  allowed 
himself  to  take  a brief  stroll  on  the  piazza.  It  was 
quite  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  before  many  minutes 
had  elapsed  he  observed  that  the  rawness  of  the 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


387 


atmosphere  was  affecting  him  with  chilliness.  On 
going. into  the  house,  he  complained  a little  of  feel- 
ing cold, 'but  added  that  he  should  probably  feel  bet- 
ter shortly.  While  he  was  at  dinner,  his  condition 
grew  worse ; and  he  arose  and  Avent  to  his  room, 
where  shortly  afterwards  he  was  seized  with  a violent 
attack  of  vertigo.  This  Avas  accompanied  or  followed 
by  A'omiting,  which  so  alarmed  the  members  of  the 
family  that  it  was  thought  best  to  summon  Dr.  Morrill 
Wyman.  During  the  evening  Mr.  Longfellow  com- 
plained bitterly  of  severe  pains  in  the  abdomen,  and 
it  was  deemed  necessary  to  administer  opiates  in 
order  to  allay  the  discomfort  and  to  induce  sleep. 

During  Sunday  marked  signs  of  improvement 
were  manifested ; and  it  was  assumed  that  the  poet 
Avas  no  longer  in  danger,  providing  the  disease  should 
remain  Avithout  further  complication.  When  Mon- 
day came,  however,  unexpected  symptoms  set  in  ;'and 
the  patient’s  condition  became  such  as  to  seriously 
alarm  the  attendants.  In  the  evening  these  symp- 
toms increased  in  se\'erity,  and  on  the  folloAving 
Tuesday  morning  it  became  evident  to  the  house- 
hold that  the  end  was  approaching.  NotAvithstand- 
ing  that  a report  of  the  poet’s  illness  had  crept  into 
the  local  ncAvspapers,  fcAv- persons  appeared  to  be 
alarmed  by  it ; and  to  a very  large  number  of  even 
his  immediate  friends  the  announcement  of  his  im- 
pending death  was  sudden  and  inexplicable. 

During  Wednesday  and  Thursday,  there  was  a 
very  slight  improvement  in  Mr.  LongfelloAv’s  condi- 
tion,— but  it  afforded  no  grounds  for  hope, — and 
there  was  also  a constant  disposition  to  sleep.  On  the 


388 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


evening  of  the  last-named  day,  he  rallied  considera- 
bly, and  evinced  a desire  to  talk  on  various  subjects. 
His  mind  appeared  to  be  fully  rational,  and  he  mani- 
fested no  lack  of  chfeer  and  no  signs  of  uneasiness. 
Towards  midliight,  however,  the  situation  was  again 
changed ; and  the  patient  became  unconscious  and 
could  find  no  rest. 

On  Friday  morning,  the  24th  of  March,  Mr.  Long- 
fellow again  revived  a little.  He  complained  of  no 
pain ; but,  during  his  lucid  moments,  he  seemed  to 
know,  and  to  wish  others  to  realize,  that  the  end  was 
approaching.  His  conversation  through  the  day  was 
somewhat  incoherent,  and  at  times  he  appeared  not 
to  be  conscious  of  what  he  was  saying.  His  disease 
(peritonitis)  was  now  fully  developed , and  the  at- 
tending physicians,  despairing  of  the  case,  made 
known  their  fears  to  the  family.  About  two  o’clock 
the  poet  suddenly  lapsed  into  a state  of  unconscious- 
ness, and  in  this  condition  he  remained  until  the 
close.  He  breathed  his  last,  easily  ’’and  apparently 
without  pain,  at  ten  minutes  past  three  o’clock.  He 
passed  away  “ in  a full  age,  like  as  a shock  of  corn 
cometh  in  in  his  season.” 

Standing  around  the  bedside  of  the  poet  were  the 
members  of  his  family:  his  three  daughters,  Alice, 
Edith,  and  Annie  his  two  sons,  Charles  A.  and 
Ernest  W.  j his  brother,  Alexander  W.  of  Portland  ; 
his  sisters,  Mrs.  James  Greenleaf  of  Cambridge,  and 
Mrs.  Pierce  of  Portland ; his  brother-in-law,  Mr. 
Thomas  G.  Appleton,  and  a few  others. 

The  same  bells  that  a few  montlis  before  had  made 
known  to  the  people  of  Cambridge  at  midnight,  in  a 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


389 


befitting  darkness  and  gloom,  that  the  President  of 
the  United  States  was  dead,  now  told  them,  while 
the  bright  sun  was  shining  and*  the  spring  was  open- 
ing,'that  Henry  Wadsworth  ^Longfellow  had  peace- 
fully finished  his  honorable  career  within  the*  house 
where  he  had  long  lived,  and  in  the  city  which  will 
ever  cherish  a tender  pride  in  having  been  his  home. 

“ His  soul  to  him,  who  gave  it,  rose ; 

God  lead  it  to  its  long  repose. 

Its  glorious  rest ! 

And  though  the  poet’s  sun  has  set, 

Its  light  shall  linger  round  us  yet, 

Bright,  radiant,  blest.” 

The  last  rites  were  fitting,  and  in  harmony  with 
what  would  have  been  — could  he  have  expressed  it 
— the  last  wish  of  the  poet.  They  united  the  undis- 
turbed retirement  which  the  family  and  personal 
-friends  of -the  dead  ever  desire  and  have  a right  to 
possess,  with  that  opportunity  which  the  public  seeks 
to  pay  its  homage  to  one  whom  it  has  loved  and 
honored.  *From  the  hour  of  his  death  to  the  burial, 
the  city  flags  were  displa^^ed  at  half-mast,  and  the 
public  buildings  and  many  private  dwellings  were 
draped  with  emblems  of  mourning.  Everybody 
seemed  to  lament  the  event  as  a common  misfortune. 

On  Sunday,  the  26th  of  March,  at  three  o'clock, 
private  funeral  services  were  held  at  the  home  of  tlie 
deceased.  Among  those  present  were,  besides  the 
family  and  immediate  relatives,  Ralph  Waldo  Emer- 
son and  daughter,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  George 
William  Curtis,  Rev.  Cyrus  A.  Bartol  of  the  West 
Church,  Boston,  Samuel  Ward  of  New  York,  Presi* 


890 


HKNUY  WADSWOKTfi  LONGFELLOW. 


dent  Eliot  of  Harvard  University,  Alexander  Agas- 
siz, John  Owen,  Dr.  Morrill  Wyman,  and  others, 
numbering  in  all  about  fifty. 

The  remains  were  laid  in  a plain  casket  covered 
with  broadcloth,  embossed  with  black  ornaments. 
On  the  top  of  the  casket  were  placed  two  long  palm 
leaves  crossed;  and  encircling  the  casket  was  a rim 
of  the  passion-flower  vine,  bearing  one  beautiful 
blossom.  The  silver  plate  bore  the  inscription  : — 

HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW, 

BORN  FEBRUARY  27TH,  1807. 

DIED  MARCH  24tH,  1882. 

The  services  at  the  house  were  conducted  by  the 
Rev.  Samuel  Longfellow,  brother  of  the  poet,  and 
were  opened  with  a short  prayer,  followed  by  the 
reading  of  the  following  selections  from  Mr.  Long- 
fellow’s poems.  The  first  selection  was  from  “ The 
Golden  Legend  : ” — 

“ Weep  not,  my  friends  ! rather  rejoice  with  me. 

I shall  not  feel  the  pain,  but  shall  be  gone, 

And  you  will  have  another  friend  in  heaven. 

Then  start  not  at  the  creaking  of  the  door 
Through  which  I pass.  I see  what  lies  beyond  it.” 

The  second  selection  was  the  poem  entitled  “Sus- 
piria.” 

“ Take  them,  O Death  ! and  bear  away 
Whatever  thou  canst  call  thine  own  ! 

Thine  image,  stamped  upon  this  clay. 

Doth  give  thee  that,  but  that  alone ! 

Take  them,  O Grave  ! and  let  them  lie 
Folded  upon  thy  narrow  shelves. 

As  garments  by  the  soul  laid  by. 

And  precious  only  to  ourselves. 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


391 


Take  them,  O great  Eternity ! 

Our  little  life  is  but  a gust 
That  bends  the  branches  of  thy  tree, 

And  trails  its  blossoms  in  the  dust ! ” 

The  third  selection  was  the  following : — 

“ All  is  of  God  ! If  he  but  wave  his  hand,  , 

The  mists  collect,  the  rain  falls  thick  and  loud, 

Till,  with  a smile  of  light  on  sea  and  land, 

Lo  ! he  looks  back  from  the  departing  cloud. 

Angels  of  Life  and  Death  alike  are  his ; 

AVithout  his  leave  they  pass  no  threshold  o’er ; 

AVho,  then,  would  wish  or  dare,  believing  this. 

Against  his, .messengers  to  shut  the  door?" 

Two  hymns  were  sung  by  the  quartet,  with 
piano  accompaniment.  The  second  hymn,  “ Softly 
Now  the  Light  of  Day,”  concluded  the  ceremonies. 

The  funeral  cortege  of  seventeen  carriages  then 
proceeded  up  Brattle  Street  to  Mount  Auburn  Ceme- 
tery. At  some  little  distance  from  the  family  tomb 
on  Indian-Ridge  path,  the  carriages  halted  ; and  the 
company  of  mourners  walked  slowly  to  the  spot 
where,  while  the  snowflakes  were  falling,  the  body 
was  quietly  deposited  in  its  last  resting-place.^  A 
profusion  of  evergreen  was  then  laid  within  the 
enclosure ; and  the  following  passages  from  the 
Scriptures  were  repeated  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Long- 
fellow : — 

“ O Death,  where  is  thy  sting?  O Grave,  where 
is  thy  victory  ? Dust  thou  art,  unto  dust  shalt  thou 

^ The  poet’s  grave  is  in  the  family  lot,  numbered  “ 580,”  on  Indian 
Kidge  Path.  At  present  neither  headstone  nor  monument  marks  the 


892 


HEXllY  WADSWOHTH  LONGFELLOW. 


return.  The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord'  taketh  away. 
Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.” 

Meanwhile  large  numbers  of  people  had  gathered 
in  the  chapel  of  Harvard  College,  whither  the 
mourners  were  immediately  taken  after  the  conclu- 
sion of  the  simple  ceremony  at  the  grave.  Every 
seat  in  the  chapel,  except  those  reserved  for  the 
family  and  friends,  was  already  filled ; and  every 
available  standing-place  was  also  occupied.  Many 
persons  were  unable  to  gain  admission  into  the 
building. 

On  a table  in  front  of  the  altar  was  a beautiful 
harp,  composed  of  smilax  and  white  and  yellow 
flowers,  with  one  broken  string.  The  impressive 
exercises  commenced  with  Mendelssohn’s  “ Beati 
Mortui,”  by  the  college-choir,  with  organ  accompani- 
ment by  Professor  Paine.  The  Rev.  Francis  G. 
Peabody,  formerly  pastor  of  the  First  Unitarian 
Church  of  Cambridge,  and  now  a professor  in  the 
Harvard  Divinity  School,  then  read  the  ninetieth 
Psalm,  also  “ I am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,” 
“ we  know  in  part  and  prophesy  in  part,”  and  tliese 
■stanzas  from  that  most  beautiful  poem,  “ Resigna- 
tion : ” — 


“ We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors  ; 
Amid  these  earthly  damps 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 
May  be  heaven’s  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  Death  ! What  seems  so  is  transition  ; 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a suburb  of  the  life  elysian, 

Whose  portal  we  call  Death.” 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


393 


A selection  from  2 Sam.  xxiii.  was  next  read: — 

“ Now  these  be  the  last  words  of  David,  the  mair 
who  was  raised  up  on  high,  the  anointed  of  the  God 
of  Jacob,  and  the  sweet  psalmist  of  Israel. 

“ The  spirit  of  the  Lord  spake  by  me,  and  his  word 
was  in  my  tongue. 

“ The  God  of  Israel  said,  the  Rock  of  Israel  spake 
to  me,  He  that  ruleth  over  men  must  be  just,  ruling 
in  the  fear  of  God. 

“ And  he  shall  be  as  the  light  of  the  morning,  when 
the  sun  riseth,  even  a morning  without  clouds  ; as 
the  tender  grass  springing  out  of  the  earth  by  clear 
shining  after  rain.” 

From  “ Hiawatha  ” were  read  the  lines  beginning 
with  that  verse  which  is  true  of  Longfellow  above 
all  modern  poets  : — 

“ He  the  sweetest  of  all  singers. 

Beautiful  and  childlike  was  he, 

Brave  as  man  is,  soft  as  woman, 

Pliant  as  a wand  of  willow. 

Stately  as  a deer  with  antlers. 

All  the  many  sounds  of  nature 
Borrowed  sweetness  from  his  singing ; 

All  the  hearts  of  men  were  softened 
By  the  pathos  of  his  music ; 

For  he  sang  of  peace  and  freedom, 

Sang  of  beauty,  love,  and  longing ; 

Sang  of  death,  and  life  undying 
In  the  land  of  the  Hereafter. 

For  his  gentleness  they  loved  him 
And  the  magic  of  his  singing.” 

After  reading  the  beatitudes.  Professor  Peabody 
concluded  with  the  reading  of  those  not  unfamiliar 


394 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


lines,  which,  perhaps,  as  tml}^  as  any  thing  he  ever 
wrote,  embody  the  religions  sentiment  and  belief  of 
their  author.  They  are  taken  from  “ The  New- 
England  Tragedies.” 

“ And  I remember  still 
The  words  and  from  whom  they  came, 

Not  he  that  repeateth  the  name 
But  he  that  doeth  the  will. 

And  Him  evermore  I behold 
Walking  in  Galilee, 

Through  the  cornfield’s  waving  gold, 

In  hamlet,  in  wood,  and  in  wold. 

By  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  sea. 

He  toucheth  the  sightless  eyes. 

Before  him  the  demons  flee. 

To  the  dead  he  saith  ‘ Arise,’ 

To  the  living,  ‘Follow  Me.’ 

And  that  voice  still  soiindeth  on 
From  the  centuries  that  are  gone 
To  the  centuries  that  shall  be. 

From  all  vain  pomps  and  shows. 

From  the  heart  that  overflows. 

And  the  false  conceits  of  men ; 

From  all  the  narrow  rules 
And  subtleties  of  schools. 

And  the  craft  of  tongue  and  pen.. 

Bewildered  with  the  search. 

Bewildered  with  the  cry, 

Lo  here  ! lo  there  ! the  Church  ! 

Poor  sad  humanity. 

Through  all  the  ages  meet, 

Turns  back  with  bleeding  feet 
By  the  weary  road  it  came. 

Unto  the  simple  thought 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


395 


By  the  Great  Master  taught; 

And  that  remaineth  still, 

Not  he  that  repeateth  the  name, 

But  he  that  doeth  the  will.” 

The  choir  then  sang  an  English  version  of  “In- 
teger Vitae.” 

The  following  beautiful  address  was  then  deliv- 
ered by  Professor  Charles  Carroll  Everett  of  the 
Harvard  Divinity  School. 

“ In  this  service  of  sympathy  and  reverent  sorrow, 
it  is  a comforting  and  inspiring  thought  that  the 
feeling  which  has  drawn  us  here  is  shared  by  multi- 
tudes wherever  the  English  tongue  is  spoken.  Many, 
indeed,  share  it,  to  whom  the  songs  of  our  poet  are 
known  only  in  what  is  to  them  a foreign  speech.  It 
shows  our  civilization  in  one  of  its  most  interesting 
aspects,  that  a feeling  so  profound,  so  pure,  so  up- 
lifting, should  unite  such  a large  portion  of  the  world 
to-day.  Here  is  no  dazzling  position,  here  is  no  start- 
ling circumstance.  A simple  life  has  uttered  itself 
in  song : and  men  listened,  rejoiced,  and  loved ; and 
now  they  mourn.  Yet  for  us  there  is  a deeper  sor- 
row. While  others  mourn  the  poet  who  is  gone,  we 
mourn  the  man.  He  was  our  townsman,  he  was  our 
neighbor,  he  was  our  friend.  We  knew  the  simple 
beauty  of  his  life : we  knew  its  truth,  its  kindness, 
its  helpfulness,  its  strength.  We  could  not  indeed 
separate  him  from  our  tliought  and  knowledge  of 
his  fame  and  of  his  genius,  but  even  this  showed 
only  his  heart  in  its  true  beauty.  We  saw  him  wear 
the  honors  of  the  world  more  easily  than  many  bear 
the  smallest  triumphs  of  our  ordinary  life.  Thus  we 


896 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


knew  him  and  loved  him,  and  thus  we  sorrow  for 
him. 

“ But  this  difference  of  which  I speak  is,  after  all, 
one  chiefly  of  degree.  He  poured  himself  into  his 
songs,  and  wherever  they  went  he  was  found  with 
tliem  ; and,  in  these,  otliers  found  the  beauty  of  that 
spirit  which  was  revealed  to  us  through  his  nearer 
presence.  Thus  he  drew  very  near  to  maii}^  hearts ; 
thus  many  who  never  looked  upon  his  face  feel  to- 
day that  they,  too,  have  lost  a friend.  You  remem- 
ber how  sweetly  and  gracefully  he  greets  these 
unseen  and  unknown  friends  in  the  dedication  of 
one  of  his  books.  He  feels  their  presence,  though  he 
sees  them  not.  He  enters  their  very  households, 
sure  of  a greeting.  Then  he  cries,  — 

“ ‘ I hope,  as  no  unwelcome  guest, 

At  the  warm  fireside,  when  the  lamps  are  lighted, 

My  place  shall  be  reserved  among  the  rest.’ 

“The  kindly  request  was  heeded.  He  found  a 
place  in  many  households  which  he  liad  never  seen, 
and  now  by  many  a fireside  it  is  as  though  there 
were  one  more  ‘vacant  chair.’ 

“ I said  he  poured  his  life  into  his  work.  It  is 
singular  that  the  phase  of  life  and  of  experience 
which  forms  so  large  a portion  of  most  poetry,  which 
many  sing  if  they  sing  nothing  else,  he  was  content 
to  utter  in  prose,  if  prose  we  must  call  the  language 
of  his  romances.  He  seems  content  to  have  scattered 
unbound  the  flowers  of  romantic  love  at  the  door  of 
the  temple  of  his  song.  There  is  something  strange, 
too,  in  thje  fascination  which  the  thought  of  death 
has  for  so  many  generous  youth.  You  remember 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


397 


tlial  'Bryant  first  won  his  fame  by  a hymn  to  death ; 
and  so,  I think,  the  first  poem  of  Longfellow’s  which 
won  recognition  for  him  was  that  translation  of  those 
sounding  Spanish  lines  which  exalt  the  majesty  of 
death,  and  sing  the  shortness  of  human  life.  But 
the  first  song  that  rang  with  his  own  natural  voice, 
which  won  the  recognition  of  the  world,  Avas  not  a 
song  of  death,  it  Avas  a Psalm  of  Life.  That  little 
volume  of  the  ‘Voices  of  the  Night’  formed  an 
epoch  in  our  literary  history.  It  breathed  his  Avhole 
spirit,  his  energy,  his  courage,  his  tenderness,  his 
faith : it  formed  the  prelude  of  all  that  should  come 
after.  I do  not  mean  that  he  tore  open  the  secrets 
of  the  heart  at  home  ; but  all  is  there,  transfigured, 
enlarged,  made  universal,  made  the  common  prop- 
erty of  all.  We  wander  Avith  him  through  foreign 
lands : he  takes  us  Avith  him  into  his  studies,  and  in 
his  translations  gives  us  the  very  fairest  fruit.  We 
hear  the  greeting  of  the  neAV-born  child ; Ave  are 
taken  into  the  sacred  joy  of  home  ; the  merry  notes 
of  ‘The  Children’s  Hour’  ring  upon  our  ears;  Ave 
feel  the  pains  of  sorrow  and  of  loss ; Ave  hear  the 
prayer  of  elevated  trust ; and,  Avhen  age  draAvs  near 
at  last,  Avhen  the  shadoAvs  begin  to  fall,  then  Ave 
share  Avith  him  the  solemnity  and  the  sublimity  of 
the  gathering  darkness. 

“ The  life  that  is  thus  imaged  in  these  songs  Avas 
one  that  is  fitted  for  such  imaging.  I think  Ave  may 
look  at  it  as  one  of  the  most  rounded  liA^es  that  have 
been  lived  upon  earth.  So  far  as  Ave  can  see  from 
the  outside,  there  seems  little  that  Avas  lacking  to 
its  completeness.  I do  not  mean  there  Avas  no  sor- 


398 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


row  in  it.  Sorrow  there  was.  What  life  could  be 
made  perfect  without  it  ? What  poet’s  life  could  be 
made  complete  without  the  experience  of  suffering? 
But,  from  the  very  first,  his  life  flowed  oir  its  "calm 
and  even  way.  His  first  songs  received  the  applause 
of  the  world  : the  sympathy  of  men  moved  with  him 
as  he  moved  forward  in  his  work.  Travel  in  foreign 
lands  enlarged  his  sympathies,  and  added  a pictur- 
esqueness to  his  poems  which  they  might  otherwise 
have  lacked.  The  literature  of  all  ages  and  nations 
was  opened  to  him,  and  he  drew  from  all.  It  is 
said,  I know,  that  thus  he  represents  the  culture  of 
the  past  and  that  of  foreign  lands,  — that  he  is  not 
our  poet,  not  American.  But  what  is  the  genius  of 
our  country  ? What  is  America?  Is  it  not  the  very 
genius  of  our  nation  to  bring  together  elements  from 
far-off  lands  and  fuse  them  into  a new  type  of  man  ? 
The  American  poet  should  represent  the  genius  of 
our  land.  He  must  have  no  provincial  muse.  He 
may  sing  of  forest  and  of  sea,  but  not  of  these  alone. 
He  must  be  the  “ heir  of  all  the  ages ; ” he  must  be 
the  ripest  fruit  of  the  culture  of  all  time ; he  must 
absorb  all  this  into  himself,  and  stand  free,  strong, 
bold,  — a man  as  simple  as  though  he  had  never 
strayed  beyond  his  native  heath.  He  must,  in  other 
words,  be  like  our  Longfellow.  When  what  we 
may  call  his  preparation  was  completed,  his  life  still 
flowed  on,  its  course  gaining  only  greater  and  calmer 
fulness  as  it  flowed.  His  age  was  as  beautiful  as 
his  manhood  and  his  youth.  That  marvellous  poem 
‘Morituri  Salutamus’  is  perhaps  to-day  the  grand- 
est hymn  to  age  that  was  ever  written.  It  is  no 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


399 


distant  dream,  as  it  was  when  those  sounding  Span- 
ish' lines  flowed  from  his  pen.  He  feels  its  shadows, 
he  feels  that  the  night  is  drawing  nigh,  and  yet  he 
stands  strong  and  calm  and  bold  as  at  first.  He 
greets  the  present  as  he 'greeted  in  old'  times  the 
future.  He  gathers  from  the  coming  on  of  age,  the 
approaching  night,  no  signal  for  rest,  but  a new  sum- 
mons to  activity.  He  cries,  — 

“ ‘ It  is  too  late  ! Ah,  nothing  is  too  late 
Till  the  tired  heart  shall  cease  to  palpitate.’ 

“ And  so  he  takes  up  his  glad  work  again.  I think 
some  of  his  sweetest  and  deepest  songs  date  from 
this  latest  period,  such  as  the  poem  to  Tennyson,  — 
that  chivalrous  greeting  from  one  knight  of  song 
to  another,  — and  that  tender  message  that  he  sent  to 
Lowell  across  the  seas  in  ‘ The  Elmwood  Herons.’ 
There  comes  even  a little  playfulness,  sitch  as  there 
is  not  much  hint  of  in  his  earlier  songs.  His  was  a 
calm  and  loving  age,  full  of  activity,  confidence, -and 
peace.  At  last  he  writes  upon  his  latest  volume 
those  words  that  marked  the  close  of  his  career,  and 
his  labors  are  at  an  end.  The  Ultima  Thule  has 
been  reached. 

“ The  world’s  love  gathered  about  him  as  he  lived, 
and  its  homage  was  breathed  into  his  ear  till  on  his 
last  birthday  there,  was  paid  him  an  ovation  such 
as  has  been  given  to  few  living.  From  his  old  home 
in  Maine  came  greetings : children’s  voices  — those 
voices  which  of  all  others  had  been  ever  most  wel- 
come to  his  ear  — joined  in  the  acclaim;  and  thus 
the  story  of  his  life  was  completed.  His  last  book 


400 


mONRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFI^LLOW. 


had  been  written,  and  marked  by  him  as  his  last. 
The  final  greeting  of  the  world  had  been  uttered  to 
him,  and  he  passed  away. 

“ lie  passed  away  I I think  we  have  not  yet  learned 
the  meaning  of  those  words.  I think  we  do  not  yet 
quite  believe  them.  We  half  think  still  that  we 
may  some  time  meet  him  in  his  familiar  haunts. 
And  does  not  this  protest  of  the  dieart  contain  a 
truth  ? Plis  spirit  has  been  called,  we  trust,  to 
liigher  service.  Yet  he  had  given  himself  unto  the 
world.  He  had  breathed  himself  into  his  songs : in 
them  he  is  with  us  still.  Wherever  they  go,  as  they 
wander  over  tlie  world,  he  will  be  with  them,  a min- 
ister of  love.  He  will  be  by  the  side  of  the  youth, 
pointing  to  heights  as  yet  unsealed,  and  bidding  him 
have  faith  and  courage.  He  will  be  with  the  wan- 
derer in  foreign  lands,  making  the  beauty  he  sees 
more  fair.  He  will  be  with  the  mariner  upon  the 
sea ; he  will  be  with  the  explorer  in  the  woods ; he 
will  be  in  the  quiet  beauty  of  home ; he  will  be 
by  the  side  of  the  sorrowing  heart,  pointing  to  a 
higher  faith : and,  as  old  age  is  gathering  about  the 
human  soul,  he  will  be  there  to  whisper  courage, 
still  to  cry,  — 

“ ‘ For  age  is  opportunity  no  less  than  youth  itself.’ 

“ Thus  will  he  inspire  in  all  faith  and  courage,  and 
point  us  all  to  those  two  sources  of  strength  that 
alone  can  never  fail,  ^ heart  within,  and  God  o’er- 
head.’” 

The  death  of  Mr.  Longfellow  was  not  unexpected, 
for  hushed  rumors  from  Cambridge  had  led  all  to 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


401 


look  for  his  departure.  It  was  not  premature : for 
his  genius  had  dowered,  and  passed  his  long  summer  ; 
and  the  autumnal  fruit  had  ripened,  and  been  gath- 
ered in.  Sixty  years  have  flown  by  since  the  first 
blossoming,  and  for  half  a century  the  flavor  of  the 
fruit  has  been  known  and  recognized  the  world  over 
for  its  delicacy  and  pure  quality.  Some  one  has  as- 
serted that  the  poet’s  name  went  abroad  but  a little 
behind  Irving’s  and  Cooper’s.  It  travelled  farther 
than  Bryant’s,  more  swiftly  than  Hawthorne’s,  and 
is,  to-day,  across  the  water,  dearer  than  any  other 
name  in  American  literature.  In  the  pure,  amiable, 
home-like  qualities  that  reach  the  heart  and  capti- 
vate the  ear,  no  person  can  place  Longfellow  second. 
He,  more  surely  than  any  other  poet,  touches  the 
best  hopes  and  sweetest  longings  in  human  nature. 
He  has  done  as  much  as  the  best  to  diffuse  the  spirit 
of  ripe  culture,  of  refined  taste, — the  atmosphere  of 
gentle  and  chaste  scholarship,  — over  a land  that 
sadly  needed  such  an  atmosphere.  When  he  was 
made  a professor  at  Harvard,  he  became  indeed  the 
presiding  genius  over  the  belles-lettres  of  America ; 
and  the  scholars  throughout  the  country  might  well 
have  asked  the  privilege  of  contributing  to  his  salary. 
He  taught  the  whole  people,  he  chastened  all  minds, 
lifting  even  the  blacksmith  at  the  forge,  the  wood- 
man on  the  frontier,  as  well  as  the  student  in  his 
laboratory.  His  volumes  became  a university  for  the 
poor  and  ignorant,  — and  they  remain. 

There  is  scarcely  a poem  in  these  volumes  that  did 
not  come  directly  from  the  heart  of  its  author,  and 
that  does  not  appeal  as  directly  to  the  heart  of  its 


402 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


reader.  And  how  full  of  noble  thoughts,  of  genial 
sentiment,  of  comfort  and  hope  and  sympathy,  of 
kindness  and  trust  and  aspiration,  are  nearly  all 
of  them  ! He^looked  upon  life  as  an  earnest*  reality, 
an  arena  of  contest ; and  it  was  his  constant  aim  to 
breathe  energy  into  fainting  hearts,  to  sustain  lag- 
ging purposes,  and  to  fix  the  reader’s  thought  upon 
what  is  stable  and  eternal.  He  grew  up  with  the 
literary  growth  of  the  country,  which  dates  no  far- 
ther back  than  his  boyhood.  He  was  in  himself  a 
very  essential  and  important  factor  in  that  growth,  — 
one  of  the  literary  and  moral  forces  of  the  nation. 
This  is  his  praise.  And,  now  that  he  has  left  us, 
we  feel  that  he  has  left  our  literature  well  born, 
nobly  nurtured,  far-travelled,  and  secure  of  its  future. 
Some  writer  in  another  generation  may  surpass  him 
in  power  or  grandeur  or  sweetness,  or  any  of  the 
qualities  which  command  success  or  give  influence ; 
but  no  epoch  of  the  development  of  our  literature  as 
such  can*  possibly  be  more  beautiful,  more  redolent, 
than  that  fine  season  when  the  breath  of  ancient 
learning  first  mingled  with  the  crisp  winds  of  New 
England  in  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 

The  story  of  Longfellow’s  life  is  one  that  will  be 
rehearsed  with  renewed  interest  as  the  years  go  by. 
It  is  a lesson  in  itself  as  full  of  noble  example  for  the 
young,  as  is  his  poetry  of  choice  precepts.  He  had  a 
sunny  nature,  which  he  transfused  throughout  all  his 
writings.  The  turbulence  that  made  the  lives  of 
Byron  and  of  Poe  miserable  was  unknown  to  him ; 
and  as  his  life  was,  so  is  his  verse,  — pure,  serene, 
and  strong,  — with  the  strength  of  the  village  black- 


LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH. 


403 


smith’s  brawny  arms  and  the  tenderness  of  Evange- 
line’s undying  love.  We  may  well  be  proud  of  such 
a poet,  — proud  of  his  productions,  and  doubly  proud 
of  the  lesson  of  his  blameless  life. 


v' 


..r 


4 


\ 


! 


APPENDIX. 


LONGFELLOW  BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

(The  references  are  to  the  pages  in  this  volume.) 


ESSAYS  AND  DISSERTATIONS. 

Origin  and  Progress  of  the  French  Language.  North  American 
Review,  pp.  167-169. 

Defence  of  Poetry.  North  American  Review,  pp.  177-170. 
History  of  the  Italian  Language  and  Dialects.  North  American 
Review,  p.  179. 

Spanish  Devotional  and  Moral  Poetry.  North  American  Re- 
view, p.  179. 

Spanish  Language  and  Literature.  North  American  Review, 

p.  180. 

Old  English  Romances.  North  American  Review,  p.  180. 

The  Great  Metropolis.  North  American  Review,  p.  206. 
Hawthorne’s  Twice-Told  Tales.  North  American  Review,  p.  211. 
Tegner’s  Frithiofs  Saga.  North  American  Review,  p.  213. 
Anglo-Saxon  Literature.  North  American  Review,  p.  214. 

The  French  Language  in  England.  North  American  Review, 
p.  259. 

Criticism  on  the  Works  of  Willis  Gaylord  Clark.  North  Ameri- 
can Review,  p.  289. 


TEXT  BOOKS. 

Elements  of  French  Grammar.  Translated  from  the  French  of 
C.  F.  L’Homond,  p.  166. 

Syllabus  de  la  Grarnmaire  italienne.  1.  Le  Ministre  de  Wake- 


405 


406 


LONGFELLOW  BIBLIOGRAPHY, 


field.  2.  Proverbes  Dramatiques,  p.  176.  Saggi  de’  Novellieri 
Italiani  d’ogni  Secolo:  Tratti  da’  piu  celebri  Scrittori,  con  brevi 
Notizie  intorno  alia  Vita  di  ciascheduiio,  p.  176. 


VOLUMES  OF  POETRY  AND  ROMANCE. 

Coplas  de  Manrique.  A translation  from  the  Spanish,  p. 
180. 

Outre-Mer;  A Pilgrimage  beyond  the  Sea.  2vols.,  p.  182. 
Hyperion:  a Romance.  2 vols.,  p.  226. 

Voices  of  the  Night,  p.  250.  ; 

Ballads  and  other  Poems,  p.  259. 

Poems  on  Slavery,  p.  275. 

The  Spanish  Student,  p.  286. 

[Editor.]  The  Waif,  p.  292. 

[Editor.]  The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,  p.  290. 

The  Belfry  of  Bruges,  and  other  Poems,  p.  294. 

[Editor.]  The  Estray,  p.  296. 

Evangeline,  p.  297. 

Kavanagh,  p.  314. 

The  Seaside  and  the  Fireside,  p.  315. 

The  Golden  Legend,  p.  317. 

The  Song  of  Hiawatha,  p.  320. 

The  Courtship  of  Miles  Standi sh,  p.  334. 

Tales  of  a Wayside  Inn,  p.  342. 

Flower-de-Luce,  p.  344. 

New-England  Tragedies.  I.  John  Endicott.  II.  Giles  Corey 
of  the  Salem  Farms,  p.  344. 

Dante’s  Divina  Commedia.  I.  Inferno.  II.  Purgatorio.  III. 
Paradiso,  p.  362. 

The  Divine  Tragedy,  p.  363. 

Christus,  A Mystery.  I.  The  Divine  Tragedy.  II.  The  Golden 
Legend.  III.  The  New-England  Tragedies,  p.  364. 

Three  Books  of  Song,  p.  364. 

Aftermath,  p.  366. 

The  Masque  of  Pandora,  and  other  Poems,  p.  368. 

[Editor.]  Poems  of  Places,  p.  372. 

Keramos,  and  other  Poems,  p.  373. 

Ultima  Thule,  p.  379. 

After  Mr.  Longfellow’s  death  were  published, — 

In  the  Harbor,  and  other  Poems,  16mo,  1882. 


LONGFELLOW  BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


407 


Michel  Angelo:  a Tragedy.  (First  printed  in  “The  Atlantic 
Monthly”  for  January,  February,  March,  1883.) 

Numerous  collected  editions  have  appeared,  both  at  home  and 
abroad.  Of  these,  perhaps  the  most  notable  and  elaborate  was 
the  following:  — 

The  Poetical  Works  of  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  con- 
taining a superb  new  steel  portrait  by  William  E.  Marshall  (from 
the  photograph  taken  by  Solomon,  in  Paris),  and  illustrated  by 
more  than  six  hundred  wood-engravings,  designed  expressly  for 
the  work  by  the  best  American  artists.  (Houghton,  Mifflin,  & Co., 
Boston,  1881.) 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  MR.  LONGFELLOW’S  WORKS. 

ENGLISH. 

Noel.  [A  French  poem  by  Longfellow  in  Flower-de-Luce.] 
Translated  by  J.  E.  Norcross.  [Philadelphia,  1867.  Large  paper. 
Fifty  copies  printed.] 

GERMAN. 

Englische  Gedichte  aus  neuerer  Zeit.  Freiligrath,  Ferdinand 
. . . H.  W.  Longfellow.  . . . [Stuttgardt  und  Tubingen,  1846.] 

Longfellow’s  Gedichte.  Ubersetzt  von  Karl  Bottger.  [Dessau, 
1856.] 

Balladen  und  Lieder  von  H.  W.  Longfellow.  Deutsch  von 
A.  R.  Nielo.  [Munster,  1857.] 

Longfellow’s  Gedichte.  Von  Friedrich  Marx.  [Hamburg  and 
Leipzig,  1868.] 

Longfellow’s  iiltere  und  neuere  Gedichte  in  Auswald.  Deutsch 
von  Adolf  Laun.  [Oldenburg,  1879.] 

Der  spanische  Studente.  Ubersetzt  von  Karl  Bottger.  [Des- 
sau, 1854.] 

The  same.  Von  Maria  Helene  Le  Maistre.  [Dresden,  n.  d.] 

The  same.  Ubersetzt  von  Hiifeli.  [Leipzig,  n.  d.] 

Evangeline.  Aus  dem  Engljschen.  [Hamburg,  1857.] 

The  same.  Ars  dem  Englischen,  von  P.  J.  Belke.  [Leipzig, 
1854.] 

The  same.  Eine  Erzahlung  aus  Acadien,  von  Eduard  Nickles. 
[Karlsruhe,  1862.] 

The  same.  Ubersetzt  von  Frank  Siller.  [Milwaukee,  1879.] 

The  same.  Ubersetzt  von  Karl  Knortz.  [Leipzig,  n.  d.] 


408 


LONGFKLU )W  BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


Longfellow’s  Evangeline.  Deutsch  von  Heinrich  Viehoff. 
[Trier,  1869.] 

Die  Goldene  Legende.  Deutsch  von  Karl  Keck.  [Wien, 
1850.] 

The  same.  Ubersetzt  von  Elise  Freifrau  von  Hohenhausen. 
[Leipzig,  1880.] 

Das  Lied  von  Hiawatha.  Deutsch  von  Adolph  Bdttger. 
[Leipzig,  1856.] 

Der  Sang  von  Hiawatha.  Ubersetzt  von  Ferdinand  Freiligrath. 
[Stuttgardt  und  Augsburg,  1857.] 

Hiawatha.  Ubertragen  von  Hermann  Simon.  [Leipzig,  n.  d.] 
Der  Sang  von  Hiawatha.  Ubersetzt,  eingeleitet  und  erkliirt  von 
Karl  Knortz.  [Jena,  1872.] 

Miles  Standish’s  Brautwerbung.  Aus  dem  Englischen,  von  F. 
E.  Baumgarten.  [St.  Louis,  1859.] 

Die  Brautwerbung  des  Miles  Staiidish.  Ubersetzt  von  Karl 
Knortz.  [Leipzig,  18 — .] 

Miles  Standish’s  Brautwerbung.  Ubersetzt  von  F.  Manefeld. 
[1867.] 

Die  Sage  von  Konig  Olaf.  Ubersetzt  von  Ernst  Rauscher. 

The  same.  Ubersetzt  von  W.  Hertzberg. 

Dorfschmid.  Die  alte  Uhr  auf  der  Trej^pe.  Des  schlaven  Traum. 
Translated  by  H.  Schmick.  Archiv.  f.  d.  Stud.  d.  n.  Spr.  1858, 
24,  214-217. 

Gedichte  von  H.  W.  L.  Deutsch  von  Alexander  Neidhardt. 
[Darmstadt,  1856.] 

Der  Bail  des  Schiffes.  Translated  by  Th.  Zermelo.  Archiv. 
f.  d.  Stud.  d.  n.  Spr.  1861,  30,  293-304. 

Hyperion.  Deutsch  von  Adolph  Bottger.  [Leipzig,  1856.] 

Eiii  Psalm  des  Lebens,  etc.  Deutsch  von  Alexander  Keidhardt. 
Archiv.  f.  d.  Stud.  d.  n.  Spr.  1856,  29,  205-208. 

Die  gottliche  Tragodie.  Ubersetzt  von  Karl  Keck.  [M.  S.] 

The  same.  Ubersetzt  von  Hermann  Simon.  [M.  S.] 

Pandora.  Ubersetzt  von  Isabella  Sehuchardt.  [Hamburg, 
1878.] 

Morituri  Salutamus.  Ubersetzt  von  Dr.  Ernst  Schmidt.  [Chi- 
cago, 1878.] 

The  Hanging  of  the  Crane  — Das  Kesselhiingen.  Ubersetzt  von 
G.  A.  Ziindt.  [n.  d.] 

The  same.  Das  Einhangen  des  Kesselhakens,  frei  gearbeitet 
von  Job.  Henry  Becker,  [n.  d.] 


LONGFELLOW  BIBLIOGRAPHY. 


409 


DUTCH. 

Het  Lied  van  Hiawatha.  In  het  Nederdeutsch,  overgebragt 
door  L.  S.  P.  Meijboom.  [Amsterdam,  1862.] 

Miles  Standish.  Nagezongen  door  S.  I.  Van  den  Berg. 
[Haarlem,  1861.] 

SWEDISH. 

Hyperion.  Svenska,  af  Gronlund.  [1853.] 

Evangeline.  Pa  Svenska,  af  Alb.  Lysander.  [1854.] 

The  same.  Ofversatt  af  Hjalmar  Erdgren.  [Goteborg,  1875.] 
The  same.  Ofversatt  af  Philip  Svenson.  [Chicago,  1875.] 
Hiawatha.  Pa  Svenska  af  Westberg.  [1856.] 

DANISH. 

Evangeline.  Paa  Norsk  ved  Sd.  C.  Knutsen.  [Christiania,  1874.] 
Sangen  om  Hiawatha.  Oversat  af.  G.  Bern.  [Kjobenhavn, 
I860.] 

FRENCH. 

Evangeline;  suivie  des  Voix  de  la  Nuit.  Par  le  Chevalier  de 
Chatelain.  [Jersey,  London,  Paris,  New  York,  1856.] 

The  same.  Conte  d’Acadie.  Traduit  par  Charles  Brunei. 
Prose.  [Paris,  1864.] 

The  same.  Par  Leon  Pamphile  Le  May.  [Quebec,  1865.] 

La  Legende  Doree,  et  Poemes  sur  I’Esclavage. 

Traduits  par  Paul  Blier  et  Edward  MacDonnel. 

Prose.  [Paris  et  Valenciennes,  1854.] 

Hiawatha.  [Traduit  de  1’ Anglais  par  M.  H.  Gomont.  [Nancy, 
Paris,  I860.] 

Drames  et  Poesies.  Traduits  par  X.  Marmier. 

The  New-England  Tragedies.  [Paris,  1872.] 

Hyperion  et  Kavanagh.  Traduit  de  T Anglais,  et  precede  d’une 
Notice  sur  I’auteur.  2 vols.  [Paris  et  Bruxelles,  I860.] 

The  Psalm  of  Life,  and  other  Poems.  Translated  by  Lucien  de 
la  Rive  in  Essais  de  Traduction  Poetique.  [Paris,  1870.] 

ITALIAN. 

Alcune  poesie  di  Enrico  W.  Longfellow.  Traduzione  dall’  In- 
glese  di  Angelo  Messedaglia.  [Pandora,  1866.] 

Lo  Studente  Spagnuolo.  Prima  Versione  Metrica  di  Messandro 
Bazzini.  [Milano,  1871.] 

The  same.  Traduzione  di  Nazzareno  Trovanelli.  [Firenze,  1876.] 


410 


LONGFELLOW  BlfiLIOGRAPHY. 


Poesie  siilla  schiavitii.  Translated  in  versi  Italian!  da  Louisa 
Grace  Bartolini.  [Firenze,  I860.] 

Evangelina.  Tradotta  da  Pietro  Rotondi.  [Firenze,  1857.] 

The  same.  Traduzione  di  Carlo  Faccioli.  [Verona,  1873.] 

La  Leggenda  d’Oro.  Tradotta  da  Ada  Corbellini  Martini. 
[Parma,  1867.] 

II  Canto  d’ Hiawatha.  Tr.  da  L.  G.  Bartolini.  Frammenti. 
[Firenze,  1867.] 

Miles  Standish.  Traduzione  dail’  Ingiese  di  Caterino  Frattini. 
[Padora,  1868.] 

PORTUGUESE. 

El  rei  Roberto  de  Sicilia.  Translated  by  Dom  Pedro  II., 
Emperor  of  Brazil.  [Autograph  MS.] 

Evangelina.  Traducida  por  Franklin  Doria.  [Rio  de  Janeiro, 
1874.] 

The  same.  Poema  de  Henrique  Longfellow.  Traducido  por 
Miguel.  [Street  de  Arriaga,  Lisbon,  n.  d.] 

The  same.  By  Flavio  Reimar,  in  the  Aurora  Brazileira,  1874; 
and  by  Jose  de  Goes  Filho,  in  the  Municipio,  1874. 

SPANISH. 

Evangelina.  Romance  de  la  Acadia.  Traducido  del  Ingles 
por  Carlos  Morla  Vicuna.  [Nueva  Sook,  1871.] 

POLISH. 

Zlota  Legenda.  The  Golden  Legend.  Translated  into  Polish 
by  F.  Jerzierski.  [Warszawa,  1857.] 

Evangelina.  Translated  into  Polish  by  Felix  Jerzierski.  [War- 
szawa, 1857.] 

Duma  o Hiawacie.  The  song  of  Hiawatha.  Translated  into 
Polish  by  Feliksa  Jerzierskiego.  [Warszawa,  I860.] 

RUSSIAN  AND  OTHER  LANGUAGES. 

Excelsior,  and  other  Poems,  in  Russian.  [St.  Petersburg,  n.  d.] 
Hiawatha,  rendered  into  Latin  with  abridgment,  by  Francis 
William  Newman.  [London,  1862.] 

Excelsior.  Translated  into  Hebrew  by  Henry  Gersoni.  [n.  d.] 
A Psalm  of  Life.  In  Marathi,  by  Mrs.  II.  I.  Bruce.  [Satara, 
1878.] 

The  same.  In  Chinese,  by  Jung  Tagen.  [Written  on  a fan.] 
The  same.  In  Sanscrit,  by  Elihu  Burritt  and  his  pupils. 


INDEX. 


Abbott,  Charles  Jeffrey,  62. 
Abbott,  Jacob,  37. 

Abbott,  John,  56. 

Abbott,  John  S.  C.,  68. 

Abbott,  Rev.  Lyman,  106. 

“ Aftermath,”  342,  366. 

Agassiz,  Alexander,  390. 

Agassiz,  Professor  Louis,  343, 368, 
369,  378. 

Aleott,  A.  Bronson,  52,  284. 
Alden,  Capt.  John,  18. 

Allen,  Frances  Anne,  202. 

Allen,  Rev.  William,  55. 
“American  Common- Place  Book 
of  Poetry,”  80,  100. 

“American  Monthly  Magazine,” 
170. 

Andrew,  John  A.,  106. 
“Anglo-Saxon  Literature,”  214. 

“ An  Old  Saying,”  247. 

“ Apostrophe  to  Time,”  249. 
Appleton,  Charles  S.,  341. 
Appleton,  Frances  E.,  224,  283, 
311. 

Appleton,  Mary,  341. 

Appleton,  Nathan,  224,  282,  283, 
296,  341. 

Appleton,  Thomas  G.,  296,  341, 
388. 

“ April  Day,  An,”  80,  93,  163. 

“ Argus,  The  Eastern,”  50. 

“ Arrow  and  the  Song,  The,”  295. 


“ Arsenal  at  Springfield,  The,” 
294. 

Ashburton,  Mary,  234,  236,  283. 
Astor,  John  Jacob,  262. 

“ Autumn,”  80,  97. 

“Autumnal  Nightfall,”  84. 

Bachi,  Pietro,  216. 

Bagaduce,  18,  20. 

Balch,  Francis  V.,  371. 

“ Ballads  and  other  Poems,”  259. 
Barrows,  Hon.  W.  G,,  384. 
Bartlett,  Elizabeth,  18. 

Bartol,  Rev.  Cyrus  A.,  389. 

“ Belfry  of  Bruges  and  Other 
Poems,”  294. 

“ Bells  of  Lynn,  The,”  344. 
Benjamin,  Park,  265. 

“Birds  of  Passage,”  373. 

“ Blank  - Book  of  a Country 
Schoolmaster,  The,”  247. 
Bokum,  Hermann,  216. 

Bone,  J.  H.  A.,  352. 

Boott,  Kirk,  341. 

Bowdoin  College,  30,  38,  51,  53, 
55,  56,  60,  62,  64,  76,  81,  104,  163, 
187,  191,  218,  371,  384. 

“ Boxer,  The,”  British  brig,  42. 

“ Bracebridge  Hall,”  Irving’s, 
102,  185. 

Bradbury,  J.  W.,  68,  75. 

Bragdon,  Samuel,  13. 

411 


412 


INDEX. 


Bragdon,  Tahitha,  13. 

Jirevvster,  Elder,  18. 

Bridge,  Horatio,  02. 

Bright,  John,  329. 

Browning,  Robert,  344. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  81,  102, 
104,  397,  401. 

Bryant,  Mrs.  W.  C.,  195. 
Buckingham,  Joseph  T.,  109,  170. 
“ Building  of  the  Ship,  The,”  315. 
Bull,  Ole,  342. 

“ Burial  of  the  Minnisink,”  The, 
80. 

Burrage,  Rev.  H,  S.,  14,  385. 
Burton,  Major,  20. 

Butler,  John,  14. 

Byfield,  Town  of,  8,  11. 

Cambridge,  187,  197, 198,  199,  200, 
201,  202,  200,  209,  219,  225,  220, 
203,  208,  209,  270,  280,  281,  283, 
293,  295,  312,  322,  340,  342,  340, 
352,  353,  354,  301,  302,  309,  371, 
370,  377,  378,  380,  384,  385,  380, 
388,  392,  400. 

Carter,  Nathaniel  H.,  30,  37,  104, 
Casco  Bay,  32. 

Cellier,  Alfred,  308. 

Chair,  The  Children’s,  376. 

“ Challenge,  The,”  306. 
“Changed,”  306. 

Channing,  Edward  T , 216. 
Channing,  Walter,  17,  216. 
Channing,  William  Ellery,  216, 
275. 

Chase,  Salmon,  17. 

( Jieever,  George  B.,  08, 76,  80, 100. 
“ Children  of  the  Lord’s  Supper, 
The,”  272. 

“ Children,”  The,  367. 

“ Children’s  Hour,  The,”  397. 

“ Christian  Fathers,  The,”  248. 

“ Christus,  A Mystery,”  364. 
Cilley,  Jonathan,  07,  08. 

“ City,  The  Beleaguered,”  253. 


Clarke,  James  Freeman,  284. 
Clark,  Lewis  Gaylord,  203. 

Clark,  Willis  Gaylord,  289. 
Cleveland,  Henry  R.,  207,  282. 
Cleaveland,  Professor  Parker,  56, 
57,  58,  77,  175. 

Cleaves,  George,  32. 

Coffin,  Joshua,  7. 

“ Columbian  Muse,  The,”  104. 
Colrnan,  Samuel,  220. 

Concord,  Town  of,  18. 
“Constitution,”  The  frigate,  27, 
379. 

Cooper,  James  Fenimore,  103. 

“ Coplas  de  Manrique,”  179,  254. 

“ Courtship  of  Miles  Standish,” 
334  , 337.  ' 

Craigie,  Dr.  Andrew,  202. 

Craigie  House,  The,  202,  204,  208, 
209,  225,  251,  252,  200,  279,  282, 
283,  296,  339,  381,  386. 

Craigie,  Mrs.,  202,  203,  204. 

“ Cure  for  Celibacy.  A,”  248. 
Curtis,  George  William,  203,  285, 
389 

Cushing,  Caleb,  81. 

Cushman,  Bezaleel,  37. 

Dana,  Richard  H , 81. 

Dana,  Richard  H 3d,  340. 
Dartmouth  College,  37,  55,  56. 
Daveis,  Charles  S.,  55,  188. 
Dawes,  Rufus,  81,  104. 

“ Day,  An  April,”  80,  93,  16.3. 

“ Day  is  Done,  The,”  293,  295. 

“ Dead,  The,”  248. 

Deane,  Parson,  15. 

“ Death  of  the  Young,  The,”  249. 
Deering,  Nathaniel,  49, 

“Defence  of  Poetry,  The,”  177. 
Dexter,  Professor,  57. 

“Dial,  The,”  284. 

Dickens,  Charles,  101. 

“ Dirge  over  a Nameless  Grave,” 
91. 


INDEX.  413 


“Divina  Comniedia,  The,”  351, 
353,  350,  301. 

“Divine  Tragedy,  The,”  363,  364. 

Dorchester  Heights,  18. 

Dow,  Jedediah,  33, 

Drake,  Samuel  A,,  199. 

“ Drinking  Song,  The,”  295. 

Duinmer,  Stephen,  10, 

Dunn,  Professor  Nathaniel,  62. 

Duxhury,  Town  of,  17,  18. 

Dwight,  Rev.  Dr.  W.  T„  41. 

“ Earth,  with  her  Thousand 
Voices,”  80. 

Edulei,  342. 

“ Elizabeth,”  367. 

Elssler,  Fanny,  286. 

Elwell,  Edward  H.,  11,  50,  385. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  52,  103, 
275,  .284,  293,  333,  343,  389. 

Emery,  Joshua,  34. 

“ Endicott,  John,”  345. 

“ Enterprise,”  The  brig,  42, 

“ Estray,  The,”  296. 

“ Evangeline,”  108,  297,  311,  312, 
334. 

“ Evening  Post,  The  New-York,” 

102. 

Everett,  Charles  Carroll,  395. 

Everett,  Edward,  170,  202,  215, 
258. 

“ Excelsior,”  258,  266,  267. 

“ FiERiE  Queene,  The,”  of  Spen- 
ser, 294. 

Falmouth,  12,  14,  20,  21,  48. 

“ Fanshawe,”  of  Hawthorne,  53. 

Fellows,  Ma’am,  36,  51. 

Felton,  Cornelius  C.,  197,207,209, 
216,  251,  252,  261,  275,  282,  291, 
368,  369. 

Fenno,  Miss,  19,  20. 

Fessenden,  William  Pitt,  69. 

Fields,  James  T.,  346,  353,  354, 
358. 


Fillmore,  Millard,  316. 

” Fire  of  Driftwood,  The,”  317. 

“ Floral  Astrology,”  249,  253. 

“ Flower-de-Luce,”  344. 

“ Flowers,”  253. 

“ Footsteps  of  Angels,”  The,  193, 
253,  256. 

Foster,  Birket,  244. 

Francis,  Convers,  284. 

“ French  Language  in  England,” 
259. 

“ Frithiof’s  Courtship,”  214. 

“ Frithiof’s  Temptation,”  214. 

“ From  my  Arm-chair,”  377. 
Fuller,  Margaret,  284,  285. 
Furness,  W.  H.,  284. 

Garrison,  William  Lloyd,  275. 

“ Gazette,  The  Portland,”  50. 

“ Gazette,  The  United-States  Lit- 
erary,” 73. 

“Giles  Corey  of  the  Salem 
Farms,”  345. 

Glover,  Col.  John,  198. 

“ Golden  Legend,  The,”  317,  338, 
363,  364,  390. 

Goold,  Hon.  William,  18,  20,  385. 
Gorham,  Town  of,  16. 

Gould,  Maria  Theresa.  282,  341. 
Gould,  Thomas,  282,  'Ml. 

Greene,  George  Washington,  154, 
159,  194,  283. 

Greene,  Nathanael,  195. 
Greenleaf,  Capt.  Stephen,  10. 
Greenleaf,  Mrs.  James,  388. 
Greenleaf,  Simon,  216. 

Griswold,  R.  W.,  274. 

Hale,  Edward  Everett,  219. 
Hale,  John  P.,  70. 

Halleck,  Fitz-Greene,  262. 
Hamlin,  Miss  Helen,  379 
Hamlin,  President,  164. 
“Hanging  of  the  Crane,  The,” 
367. 


414 


INDEX. 


“ irai)i)y  Mail  and  the  Lucky 
Dog,  The,”  247. 

Harvard  College,  11,  12, 17,  18, 55, 
155,  187,  l‘)7,  215,  218,  2G5,  320, 
300,  392,  401. 

“ Haunted  Chamber,  The,”  36G. 

Haverhill,  East,  Town  of,  11. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  53,  55,  02, 
08,  00,  78,  103,  209,  211,  312,  344. 

Hedge,  F.  H,,  284. 

” Herons  of  Elmwood,  The,”  374, 
390. 

“Hiawatha,”  320,  323,  325,  320, 
331,  393. 

Hillard,  George  S.,  170,  207,  261. 

Hildreth,  Richard,  170. 

Hiram,  Town  of,  23,  24,  28. 

“History,”  249. 

“ History  of  the  Italian  Language 
and  Dialects,”  The,  179. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  103, 170, 
314,  333,  343,  340,  380,  389. 

Howe,  Julia  Ward,  262. 

Howe,  Lyman,  342. 

Howe,  Samuel  G.,  170,  275,  281, 
282. 

Howells,  W.  D.,  354,  359,  363. 

Hunt,  John,  13. 

•“Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns,” 
The,  80,  95. 

“ Hymn  to  the  Night,”  The,  253. 

“Hyperion,”  190,  226,  244,  245, 
255,  279,  283. 

“ Imitation,”  248. 

“ Indian  Hunter,  The,”  80,  93. 

“ Intellect,”  247. 

“Italian  Scenery,”  85. 

Irving,  Washington,  102,  183,  185. 

Jackson,  Patrick  T.,  341. 

“ Jeckoyva,”  95. 

Jenks,  Rev.  William,  56. 

Jones,  J.  Athearn,  81, 104. 

Jordan,  Mrs.  Olive,  12. 


Jordan,  Capt.  Samuel,  12. 

Jug,  The  Longfellow,  374. 

“ Kavanagh,”  314,  315. 

Kellogg,  Rev.  Elijah,  40,  45. 

Kent,  Charles,  348. 

“ Keramos,”  40,  373,  374. 

“ Killed  at  the  Ford,”  344. 

Kirkland,  John  Thornton,  215. 

“Knickerbocker,  The,”  240,249, 
250,  203. 

“Knickerbocker’s  History  of 
New  York,”  102. 

“ Knight,  The  Elected,”  266. 

“ Legend  Beautiful,  The,”  365. 

Lexington,  Town  of,  18. 

Lieber,  Francis,  197,  258,  276. 

“ Lighthouse,  The,”  317. 

L’Homond,  Charles  F.,  166. 

“ Light  of  Stars,  The,”  253,  255, 
256,  258. 

Lincoln,  Enoch,  48. 

Little,  Josiah  L.,  65,  67. 

Longfellow,  Abigail,  28. 

Longfellow,  Alexander  W.,  14, 
17,  388. 

Longfellow,  Alice,  11. 

Longfellow,  Alice  M.,  340,  388. 

Longfellow,  Anne,  17. 

Longfellow,  Annie  Allegra,  340, 
388. 

Longfellow,  Charles  A.,  339,  388. 

Longfellow,  Edith,  340,  388. 

Longfellow,  Elizabeth,  17. 

Longfellow,  Ellen,  17. 

Longfellow,  Ernest  W.,  340,  .388. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth, 
birth,  32;  named,  35;  firstschool, 
35  ; at  Portland  Academy,  36  ; 
at  Bowdoin  College,  38,  53-79  ; 
first  poem,  38,  39;  reminiscences 
of  old  Portland,  42-45;  contrib- 
utes to  “ United-States  Literary 
Gazette,”  73 ; anecdotes  of,  70, 


INDEX. 


415 


71,  72,  73,  74  ; as  a student  in 
college,  70-76;  fondness  for 
music,  76;  graduation,  77-79; 
earlier  poems,  80-104;  first  visit 
to  Europe,  105-162;  first  meets 
Greene,  154;  appointed  a pro- 
fessor in  Bowdoin  College,  105  ; 
enters  upon  liis  professorship, 
163;  tributes  to,  163-165;  pre- 
pares text-books,  166;  a con- 
tributor to  “ The  North  Ameri- 
can Review,”  167,  177,  179,  180, 
206,  211,  213,  214, 259, 289;  a con- 
tributor to  “ The  New-England 
Magazine,”  169-172  ; first  mar- 
riage, 173  ; publishes  “ Outre- 
Mer,”  181  ; criticism  on  the 
same,  182-186  ; invited  to  Cam- 
bridge, 187;  resigns  at  Bow- 
doin College,  192 ; appointed 
“ Smith  ” Professor  at  Harvard 
Coliege,  192 ; second  visit  to 
Europe,  192-197  ; death  of  his 
wife,  193 ; first  meets  Sumner 
and  Felton,  197;  settles  in  Cam- 
bridge, 197  ; first  years  in  Cam- 
bridge, 198-223 ; Longfellow  at 
the  Craigie  House,  203 ; first 
literary  production  in  Cam- 
bridge, 206  ; joins  the  “ Five  of 
Clubs,”  207  ; meetings  with 
Hawthorne,  209-213 ; begins 
work  at  the  college,  219  ; trib- 
utes to,  209-223 ; first  meets 
Miss  Appleton,  224  ; publishes 
“Hyperion,”  226;  outline  of, 
226-245  ; contributes  to  “ The 
Knickerbocker,”  246-250 ; the 
“ Voices  of  the  Night,”  250-258; 
“ Ballads  and  other  Poems,” 
259-274 ; again  visits  Europe, 
275 ; “ Poems  on  Slavery,” 

275-278  ; second  marriage,  283  ; 
keeps  aloof  from  Transcen- 
dentalism, 284  ; “ The  Spanish 


Student,”  286-289 ; publishes 
“ Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,” 
290 ; first  collected  edition 
of  his  poems,  292 ; publishes 
“The  Waif,”  292;  “The  Bel- 
fry of  Bruges,  and  other  Po- 
ems,” 294  ; “ The  Estray,”  296; 
appearance  of  “ Evangeline.” 
297  ; “Kavanagh,”  314  ; “The 
Seaside  and  the  Fireside,” 
315;  “The  Golden  Legend,” 
317 ; resigns  his  professor- 
ship at  Harvard  College,  320; 
publishes  “ Hiawatha,”  320 ; 
popularity  of,  331  ; helps  start 
“ The  Atlantic  Monthly,”  333 ; 
publishes  “ Courtship  of  Miles 
Standish,”  334 ; death  of  his 
second  wife,  338 ; children  of, 
339,  340  ; publishes  “ Tales  of 
a Wayside  Inn,”  342  ; “ Flower- 
de-Luce,  and  other  Poems,” 
344;  “ The  New-England  Trage- 
dies,” 344,  again  visits  Europe, 
346  ; how  entertained,  346-350  ; 
a translator  of  Dante,  351-362  ; 
the  translation  published,  362  ; 
“ The  Divine  Tragedy,”  363  ; 
“Three  Books  of  Song,”  364; 
visits  Newbury,  365  ; “ Aftei- 
math,”  342,  366;  “The  Hang- 
ing of  the  Crane,”  367  ; “The 
Masque  of  Pandora,”  368 ; 
mourns  the  death  of  Felton, 
Agassiz,  and  Sumner,  369-371  ; 
meets  his  classmates  at  Bow- 
doin College,  371;  edits  “ Poems 
of  Places,”  372;  “ Keramos,” 
373 ; receives  the  Longfellow 
Jug,  376  ; honored  by  the  Cam- 
bridge children,  376  ; his  last 
volume,  “ Ultima  Thule,”  379  ; 
address  at  Cambridge,  380 ; 
health  begins  to  decline,  381; 
celebration  of  his  seventy-fifth 


41G 


INDEX. 


birthday,  383-385  ; last  illness, 
38(),  387  ; (loath,  388  ; funeral, 
38W-.391  ; other  ceremonies,  392- 
400  ; tributes,  401-403. 

Lon<;fellovv,  Horace  F.,  letter  of 
8,  9,  11. 

Longfellow,  Joseph,  11. 

Longfellow,  Mary,  17. 

Longfellow,  Mrs.,  1st,  192, 193. 

Longfellow,  Mrs.,  2d,  338,  339, 
340. 

Longfellow,  Nathan,  11. 

Longfellow,  Rev.  Samuel,  390, 
391. 

Longfellow,  Samuel,  11,  15. 

Longfellow,  Samuel,  2d,  17. 

Longfellow,  Stephen,  1st,  10,  14. 

Longfellow,  Stephen,  2d,  11,  12, 
13,  14,  15. 

Longfellow,  Stephen,  3d,  16. 

Longfellow,  Stephen,  4th,  16,  27, 
28,  31,  32,  35. 

Longfellow,  Stephen,  brother  of 
the  poet,  60. 

Longfellow,  Tabitha,  15. 

Longfellow,  William,  7,  8, 10. 

Longfellow,  Zilpah,  32. 

Lord,  Nathan,  55. 

“ Lovewell’s  Fight,”  poem  on,  39, 
40,  71,  81,  382. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  219,  274, 
278,  285,  314,  320,  333,  340,  343, 
346,  352,  373,  399. 

Loyal,  Fort,  33. 

“ Luck  of  Edenhall,  The,”  266. 

“ Lunatic  Girl,  The,”  88. 

Lunt,  George,  81. 

Lytton,  Lord,  349. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  341. 

Madison,  James,  215. 

” Maidenhood,”  271. 

Maine  Historical  Society,  188,  384. 

Marshfield,  Town  of,  11. 

Marston’s  Tavern,  47. 


“ Martin  Chuzzlewit,”  of  Dickens, 

101. 

Martin,  Theodore,  348. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  293. 

“ Masque  of  Pandora,  The,”  368. 
McLellan,  Capt.  Arthur,  21. 

“ Meeting,  The,”  366. 

Mellen,  Frederic,  78. 

Mellen,  Grenville,  49,  81,  104. 

” Metropolis,  The  Great,”  206. 

“ Midnight  Devotion,”  247. 

“ Midnight  Mass  for  the  Dying 
Year,”  253,  256. 

Mitchell,  William,  10. 

Mitford,  Miss  Mary,  332. 

Monti,  Luigi,  342. 

“Morituri  Salutamus,”  368,  371, 
398. 

Motley,  102. 

Musgro,  Jahez,  10. 

“ Musings,”  97. 

“ My  Lost  Youth,”  42. 

Neat,  John,  49. 

Newbury  Company,  8,  10. 
Newbury,  Town  of,  7,  10. 

“ New-England  Magazine,  The,” 
169,  170,  182,  184. 

“ New-England  Tragedies,  The,” 
344,  363,  364,  394. 

Newman,  Samuel  P.,  56. 

“ New-York  Review  and  Athe- 
naeum Magazine,”  102. 

Nichols,  George,  371. 

Nichols,  John,  22. 

“ Noel,”  344. 

Nordin,  Baron,  272. 

“ North  American  Review,  The,” 
167,  177,  179,  180,  183,  191,  192, 
206,  211,  289. 

“ Norman  Diligence,  The,”  172. 
Norton,  Professor  Andrews,  208, 
282,  333,  362. 

Norton,  Professor  Charles  Eliot, 
208,  353,  355. 


INDEX. 


417 


“ Obituary'  An,”  248. 

“Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs,  The,” 
295. 

“ Old  English  Romances,”  180. 

“ Origin  and  Progress  of  the 
French  Language,”  107. 

Orr,  Hon.  Benjamin,  106. 
“Outre-Mer,”  162,  172,  181,  182, 
186,  192,  210,  281,  288. 

Owen,  John,  39,  51,  52,  70,  73,  74, 
207,  226,  250,  251,  293,  371,  372, 
385,  386,  390. 

Packard,  Professor  Alpheus  S., 
56,  60,  65,  104,  165,  385. 

Paine,  Capt.  Jonathan,  21. 
Parker,  Rev.  Thomas,  7. 

Parsons,  Theophilus,  73,  81, 104. 
Parsons,  T.  W.,  342,  .362. 
“Passage  from  Dante,  A,”  247. 
Payson,  Rev.  Edward,  40. 
Peabody,  Rev.  O.  W.  B.,  170, 
184. 

Peabody,  Rev.  Francis  G.,  392. 
Pen,  The  Iron,  379. 

Percival,  James  E.,  81, 104. 
Philadelphia,  107. 

Phillips,  'Willard,  202. 

Phillips,  "Wendell,  275. 

“ Philosophy,  Rosicrucian,  The,” 
249. 

Phips,  Sir  William,  9. 

Pierce,  Benjamin,  216. 

Pierce,  Edward  L.,  371. 

Pierce,  Franklin,  70. 

“ Pilgrim  of  Outre-Mer,  The,” 
172. 

Pilsbury,  Serjt.  Increase,  10. 
Plagiarists,  248. 

Plaisted,  Mr.,  12. 

Plunkett,  Thomas  F.,  282,  296. 
Poe,  Edgar  A.,  102,  273,  274,  285, 
287,  288,  294. 

“ Poems  of  Places,”  372. 

“ Poems  on  Slavery,”  275,  277. 


i “ Poets  and  Poetry  of  Europe,” 
The,  214,  290. 

“ Poetry,”  248. 

Poore,  Ben:  Perley,  365. 

Portland,  Me.,  11,  12,  14,  16,  23, 
26,  27  , 28,  30,  32,  37,  40,  41,  46, 
105,  173,  188,  281. 

Portland  Academy,  36,  39,  51. 
Potter,  Anne  Storer,  173. 

Potter,  Hon.  Barrett,  173. 

Potter,  Mary  Storer,  173,  174. 
Preble,  Commodore,  26,  47. 

“ Prelude,”  253. 

Prentiss,  Sergeant  Smith,  70. 
Prescott,  102,  180,  282,  333. 
“Psalm  of  Life,”  The,  213,  252, 
253,  254,  255,  258,  339,  397. 

“ Quadroon  Girl,  The,”  276. 
Quincy,  Josiah,  215,  333. 

Read,  Thomas  Buchanan,  340. 
“Reaper  and  the  Flowers,  The,” 
253,  255,  258. 

“ Recollections  of  the  Metropo- 
lis,” 172. 

“Resignation,”  317. 

“ Rhyme  of  Sir  Christopher,”  366. 
Ripley,  George,  284. 

Roosevelt,  Blanche,  368. 
“Ropewalk,  The,”  46. 

Roxbury,  Town  of,  18. 

Russell,  Thomas,  201. 

Sales,  Francis,  216. 

“ Salmagundi,”  102. 

Sampson,  Susanna,  18. 

“Santa  Filomena,”  334. 

Sargent,  Epes,  170. 

“ Saturday  Afternoon,”  247. 

“ Scanderbeg,”  .‘16(). 

Schoolcraft,  Henry  R.,  322,  324. 
“Schoolmaster,  The,”  170,  171, 
172,  183. 

“ Sea-Diver,  The,”  80,  96. 


418 


INDEX. 


“ Seaweed,"  295. 

“ Seaside  and  the  Fireside,  The," 
315. 

" Secret  of  the  Sea,  The,"  317. 

" Set  of  China,  The,"  248. 

Sevvall,  Anne,  8. 

Sewall,  Elizabeth,  8. 

Sewall,  Henry,  8. 

Sewall,  Nathan,  8. 

Sewall,  Samuel,  8. 

Sevvall,  Stephen,  8. 

Shepley,  Rev.  David,  55,  56,  63, 
66,  76,  371. 

Short,  Henry,  10. 

“ Skeleton  in  Armor,  The,"  260, 
261,  274. 

“ Sketch-Book,"  of  Irving,  102, 
185. 

" Slave's  Dream,  The,"  276. 

“ Slave  Singing  at  Midnight,” 
276. 

Smith,  Parson,  13,  48. 

Smith,  Lieut.  James,  10. 

Smith,  Thomas,  12. 

Smith’s  “ Journal,"  Parson,  12, 
13. 

Smyth,  Egbert  C.,  106. 

“Song,"  98. 

“ Song  of  Savoy,  A,"  92. 

“ Song  of  the  Rhine,"  248. 

“Song  of  Hiawatha,"  320,  323, 
325,  326,  331,  393. 

“Soul,  The,”  249. 

“ Spanish  Language  and  Litera- 
ture," 180. 

“ Spanish  Devotional  and  Moral 
Poetry,”  179. 

“ Spanish  Student,  The,"  286, 287, 
288,  337. 

“ Spirit  of  Poetry,  The,"  80. 

Sparks,  Jared,  202. 

Stephenson,  Abigail  Longfellow, 
28. 

Stephenson,  Samuel,  28,  .32. 

Story,  Hon.  Joseph,  17,  170,  215. 


Stowe,  Calvin  E.,  70, 106. 

Sumner,  Charles,  197,  207,  209, 
252,  255,  261,  266,  272,  275,  282, 
283,  295,  315,  316,  342,  365,  368, 
370. 

Sumner,  Harriet  C.,  342. 

“ Sunrise  on  the  Hills,"  80,  95. 

Surault,  Francis  M.  J.,  216. 

“ Suspiria,"  390. 

“ Syllabus  de  la  Grammaire  itar 
lienne,"  176. 

“ Tales  of  a Traveller,"  102. 

“ Tales  of  a Wayside  Inn,"  342, 
364,  366. 

Tegner’s  “ Frithiofs  Saga,"  213. 

Tegne'r,  Bishop,  272,  274. 

“ Telegraph,  the  London,"  g-wofed, 
266. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  329,  344,  358, 
363,  399. 

“ Thanksgiving,"  82. 

“ Thanatopsis,"  102. 

“ Three  Books  of  Song,"  364. 

“Three  Friends  of  Mine,"  .368, 
369. 

Ticknor,  George.  187, 188, 190, 191, 
195,  216,  251,  351. 

“ To  the  River  Charles,"  270. 

Tompson,  Abigail,  11. 

Tompson,  Rev.  Edward,  11. 

Tracy,  Nathaniel,  201. 

Treadwell,  Daniel,  216. 

Treadwell,  Professor,  342. 

Tuckerman,  Henry  T.,  266. 

“Twice-told  Tales,”  of  Haw- 
thorne, 210. 

“ Two  Locks  of  Hair,  The," 
266. 

Tyng,  Sarah,  12. 

Tyng,  William,  12. 

“United-States  Literary  Ga- 
zette, The,"  81,  82,  95,  100,  104, 
250. 


INDEX. 


419 


Vassal,  Col.  John,  198. 

Vassal  House,  201. 

“ Venetian  Gondolier,  The,”  90. 
Victoria,  Queen,  348. 

“Village  Blacksmith,  The,”  268, 
269,  270,  274,  376. 

” Village  of  Auteuil,  The,”  172. 
'‘Voices  of  the  Night,”  The,  250, 
251,  253,  256,  258,  259,  265,  397. 

Wadsworth,  Alexander  Scam- 
inell,  27. 

Wadsworth,  Charles  Lee,  24. 
Wadsworth,  Christopher,  17. 
Wadsworth,  Henry,  26,  35. 
Wadsyvorth  House,  22,  28. 
Wadsworth,  Mrs.,  20. 
Wadsworth,  Deacon  Peleg,  17. 
Wadsworth,  Gen.  Peleg,  17,  28. 
Wadsworth,  Zilpah,  17. 
Wadsworth,  Zilpah,  2d,  21,  27. 

“ Waif,  The,”  292,  294,  296. 
Wales,  Henry,  342. 

Ward,  Gen.,  18. 

Ward,  Samuel,  194,  260,  263,  272, 
281,  352,  367. 

Ward,  Julia,  281. 


Ware,  John,  216. 

“ Warning,  The,”  276. 
Washington,  George,  198,  201, 
202,  204. 

Wendell,  Elizabeth,  13. 

“ Where  is  Peter  Grimm  ? ” 248. 
Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  11, 102, 
275,  278,  333,  346,  365. 

Willis,  Nathaniel  P.,  40,  81. 
Willis,  William,  13,  15,  30. 
Wilson,  James  Grant,  267. 
Winthrop,  Robert  C,,  215,  341. 
Wiseman,  Cardinal,  329. 

“ Wise  Saw,  A,”  249. 

Withington,  Dr.,  170. 

“ Woods  in  Winter,”  80, 163. 
Worcester,  Joseph,  202. 

“World,  The  New,”  265. 

“ Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,  The,” 
264,  274. 

“ Writings  of  Washington,” 
Sparks’s,  202. 

Wyman,  Dr.  Morrill,  387,  390. 
Young,  Patience,  16. 

ZiMMERN,  Adolph,  195. 


11 


